Snow - and not that rare Jerusalem kind
But the New York vagrant white
Started encircling me meanwhile
Candle after candle lit up in me.
Every day was a prophecy, a requital
And even the weatherman was remarkable
For his kindness, careful not to disclose whether
Bitter phenomena were invading
Some air, somewhere.
Now I am an island unto its snow. A knife-glint alone.
Chances for indulgence are sealed and done.