I.
The light is with us
for a little while longer.
Ice is puddled under
the groaning snow and the cracking
of trees. Our shadows
on the ground are blue,
and strewn with
preschool glitter.
II.
Like in paradise, here
there are piles of lemons
and men in aprons tending
the piles, placing those
that roll back up
at the top, so
warm I take
off my coat, as
the snow in my hair
melts it wet.
III.
The tin roof shrieks
with the wind, I’m
afraid it’ll come
off, afraid that trees
can bend so far
from the true. Later
walking amid fallen
branches, I see that
they cannot.
