such flakes

they can’t possibly be gathering
all on their own

mass extinction

all the empty beds
standing on end

one feels at times barely tethered to the earth.

I crush another cathedral
with every step

and all this immigrant snow
clinging to our land

the immaculate ignorance
of snow

we brought our words folded up like dangerous umbrellas.

all that’s left is location
location location

and the other foot, too, in this world, I am learning to love the dailyness of my walks.

when nearly everyone shared a knowledge of what the Bible said and an ignorance of what it meant.

is like a folded wing. A sleeping face is a dry riverbed with the faint sound of water somewhere below.

and its occupant insists on throwing stones.