The stillness before snow. The stillness
Of everything but the snow. The fury
Once it’s gone blizzard. There’s nothing
Of that now, just the story we remember.
And we fill the air with it, again and again.
Bullets, too fast to be seen, not falling
But flying in a furious haze, not landing—
Hitting and taking, hitting and taking.
After the snow, the shroud snow, the white
And all covering snow, words step out
From our mouths, invisible birds
Hoping to rise and regain the sky.