PIERCING

White snow falling 

softly on an August afternoon—

and still—everywhere men 
and women walk 

and do not seem 
to see it. Some day—I knew,

that I must die—but I think 
that now 

I must—

finally mean it;

For how 
is this possible!—why?

won't they notice—

how absolute-

ly 
starving—the beautiful,

lapis-
blue sky looks?