pristine.
still falling.
spread over the dirty world,
like immaculate ignorance.

finest flakes
blowing like dandelion seeds
or arranged on the balcony,
lace for the hem of an old-fashioned dress.

ultimately, i will have
to hold all
the conversation
with myself

no one could possibly get through to here,
even with state of the art snowshoes.
i am alone on an undiscovered continent

my world is
like a love waiting
to be discovered.

the snow shovel itself
is finally invisible, completely buried
and i am weak in my bones.

but no one will know.
i am the only person
in this vast white room