Wednesday, March 10, 2010


Men press darkly on evening snow.
Newspapers rustle on the tundra.
Snowplows trundle through icy streets.
     I am caught off the curb
in their candle glare.
A man in a wagon addresses me
from the pavement. He is kind.
     He tells me I am part wolf.
He offers protection to me.
His wagon is open.
Heavy flakes fall in front of me.
Banks of lights turn on and off.
The lights dance.

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