h1

blizzard warning 32909

April 2, 2009

A crest, a mound over a gently rolling landscape,
Pushing up just slightly,
So barely,
The smallest shade of its zenith is invisible.
Here, bare feet on concrete.

Hands don’t want to reach in.
Fingers don’t want chill.
Mouth wants no natural refreshment.
Skin wants only warmth.

From my window, sideways flurries
Alternate with sideways blusters
Caressing horizontal automobiles
And packing vertical drifts on windows and doors.

Hands keep typing.
Cup keeps emptying.
Steam keeps rising.
Fire keeps popping.

Not a single degree outside this bunker.
Not a soul seen for hours.
Fretting not about what to do with the time.
Just bundling and bundling and bundling.
And looking forward to the morning shine.

(for Read.Write.Poem.)

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