We were spoiled by the meekness 
of a weak winter
and so when the wind bit our skin
and the floor of the earth hardened
and the white ash of a non-existent volcano
fell like fine powdered madness
we wondered what hackles
of what frost god
we’d raised in anger
Thus the talk of the town
is a common kind
and everyone proclaims
they’ve seen nothing like it before
though I wonder
if every year can hold something not seen like it before

and when I spilled myself
on the frozen stage of the driveway
I bit my tongue and warmed myself
with the heat of raw blood
I laughed at the suddenness of it all
the snowflakes committing suicide
in the canyon of my open mouth
their sacrifice soothing
and in their honor
I stretched my arms to carve a snow angel
I knew would be gone within the hour