along the southern skyline
snow is falling like hansel and gretel’s crumbs
or grains of rice, flung out
on neither trail nor time

i parked the car just in time
to avoid my own destination
wearing wind and twilight
my snowdrop necklace touching my frozen palm

even the balcony columns look like
frozen, withered skulls.
this too shall pass, although
not unmarked by the whiteness of the air

there is nowhere
to go in this blizzard
but inward. even the knot of my shadow
wears snow-pins in her hair

while two teabags in the teapot
huddle for strength and warmth
and snowflakes jewel the windowsill.
take my hand and look–

you can see it snowing in my eyes

. . . . As the bird trims her to the gale, 

okay. i lied about the moon and the
walls burnished silver.  snow lies
on this mountain like a plague,
the silver moon now a hazy smear
struggling to find its terminus.

and your movements--the ones that
made me lose my place in the
earthly air? those occurred a thousand
miles away inside of someone else.

in truth, if truth is true, my room is white
like reflected snow,
and it is the sound of your virtual voice--
sometimes resigned to life's vicissitudes
and sometimes charmed and holy
like waves of wind
in the trees--
that i fell for, long ago.

we have never touched.

but what
are the objects
that seduce me?

words

every day before the world falls apart,
before the flood of thought begins,
before the last star leaves the morning twilight,

the moon turns back to the pond
for one last look at herself in the mirror,
an adamantine queen on a throne of silver

where half of every tree is shadow.

in the stillness of a frozen star you say
my name three times, the third time softly;

the floor, the walls, the ceiling
all silver-plated now,
as your deliberate movements

rip my breath to rags

• 

  i will sing to you.  pieces of music
  that never existed.  a falling stone.
  a cracked bell. feathers catching a wind.

  there will be a parade to celebrate.
  the frayed edges.
  the dead marching in half syllables.

  drumbeats will tear the bright world to shreds.
  swallows dropping from the eaves like plums.
  leaves falling wet with worry for the last time.

  i will search for you. a dark shadow
  within a shadow. miles of air around you.
  trees waving their uncertain arms.

  the package of my body.
  tapping an erratic rhythm.
  a tender shell meant to open.

  we are both half blind. you and i.
  birds vanishing behind the hills.
  the curve of a breast that invented breathing.

  the white wind thrashes a tree's silhouette.
  snow tumbles down.  a dead weight.
  no music.
  no parade.
  no drums.
  no shadows.
  no shell.
  no breast.
  no birds.

  no sound.
  static wingbeats broken in mid-flight.