One
for each—prism of white
winter
sun glinting—
off
the dirty cascading
windowed facades of old flat-
iron buildings—and several
more
for each orange-
cream colored vomit stain
dotting hard-
spiked snow piles—and the last
two or so for
the smell—of all the log-jammed
big vehicles backfiring
at endless
stoplights—suddenly
lifting! with the changing
wind—and grace-
fully modulating
to
the precious
notes wafting out
fresh
from the neighborhood's
healthy
competition of donut shops.
