I can see it in mine, and yours too - the corners
of eyes and mouth sag, weighted by our slushy urban slog.
Unurbane, we melt into the night like Dali's clocks,
Counting, counting the minutes of loss.
Soon I'll look into the sun that cleans
every corner and highlights the dust,
and diamonds the snow, and delivers
from darkness my laden soul.
I bargain, beguile, beg for ten degrees
to turn disconsolate rain into sanguine snow.
So snow now,
so we may play in the light of the darkest day.