outside of the window there

is finally the

unexpectedness of snow

falling in a hurry

over the roofs of sleeping families,

falling just for me,

awake,

in the hours between today and tomorrow.

in the morning,

they will all awake to a

project already completed but I

will abandon cicadian rythem,

the temptation of dreams, and

try to taste the flavor of the

purple sky,

icy frost on the glass,

the moment when a snowflake becomes

trapped in the beam of a car's headlight.

the snow rushed to fall for me

before i left so that it would

remind me of the ease

of being buried and covered,

like a coin dropped on a sidewalke,

a memory of a mother,

a person you once were.

by tomorrow we will have all started

digging through the snow

but tonight

it is

momentarily comforting