By two o’clock the snowstorm had begun its diagonal attack on windows overlooking East 7th. Inside, low hum of the fridge. Hard to tell
By two o’clock the snowstorm had begun its diagonal attack on windows overlooking East 7th. Inside, low hum of the fridge. Hard to tell
What light there is in me waits like a winter field the way stars, by day, hide like seeds’ buried choirs. Once I called
A flock of doves condensed into vestments.
All of winter stood before the people,
disguised as a man with a pleasant singing voice.
Candles were lit behind
