Thursday, February 3, 2022

poem

Soft Landing

Yesterday’s snow fell sharp and fast

Like the snapped off tips

Of a thousand hypodermic needles

Hurtling earthward in a rush to land.


It made the sound of sand

Sifting through an hourglass,

Each grain a piercing wound

Passing through the narrowest waist.


Ice lashed my numbed face

Like a blast of birdshot

From close range welting

Flesh already blotched and frozen.


Today, it slowly wafts down in 

Beautifully complex flakes,

Flitting in slow leisurely waltzes

Toward a landing certain to be soft. 


2/3/22

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