You are free to to notice how
the snow comes and goes
like a mysterious saint, replacing
degradation with dignity
and erasing morass back to white.
Like a series of nested infinities,
see it accumulate—more like
a magnitude than a number,
more a mindset than a mood.
And although the gruff populace
claims to long for specificity,
there is still an order in the ripples
which gradually spread from mind
to mind, like the simple meme
of a blank rectangle. Gradually
this penitentiary, filled with a guilty
3.5 million, grows a little
less accountable; no one thinks now
of pressing charges. Nobody—
not a child, or a brown squirrel
on the frozen power line—wonders
why or how it's possible
this gossamer cloudstuff falls
down—instead of the
other way around.
