Inside Winter

Inside Winter

The snow is only a paper snow today, only a
story of snow outside the window, and the snowdrifts
I pass in the hallway are only paper snowdrifts.

This morning’s lit with imaginary light.
I bask in bed from nine until noon, a new man
in mid-November under the same old imaginary sun.

The sky today is a painted sky
and the imaginary sun is only pinned to it
the way a child pins a paper dragon to a bedroom wall.

Outside, I can see the air in motion. I watch it
through the window, remembering the snow
is only paper, blowing away, but forgetting to fade.

—————[|||]—————
QNv8

HOPPER

3 thoughts on “Inside Winter

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