303. Night, and Flaking

Slaty night
settling into

place or it

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Perspective
is personal

and individually
we are constant

unended
or up

to

Vision of
(one
or more)

reduced
in slats of deepening

dark and

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delicate and scattered
snowflakes

On a cheek
less than a kiss

Breeze of
snowflake

or on a

crashes
so quietly

there is no notice to it

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Icy snow
in piles

seems what
is frozen

tho this night
too and walk

upon

the frozen
ground

I am smaller
than a maple

(you might
imagine it)

yet not
perpetual

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It loses its branches
in the slotted night

Butterknife
pain in wrist
from writing

so writing comes
as a way

of darkening

page
the recognition
of snow

or pure
cognition

the one time
of it

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Constant it is
constant

as everything
resembles

(((((

precisely

)))))

itself

I recognize
by knowing

what it is

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Compact
and nightly

held as if
in a hand

could hold
it not a snow’s

flake come
black

but dark

enough that
the snow’s

gone and
turned

to slipping
down & thru

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a night
(

one’s night

)

(

)

(
or right

)

(

)

(

)against
th|cheek

slightly

salty

(the taste
of one’s

own

lips

)

&

the
moon

all about

it