Snow again
last night.
My memory
of its usual trials
is tempered now by
early morning
and by how our yards
gleam.
Tempered by
the world
shifting rapidly,
making us forget pain
when we are struck by
the right trick
of light…
we’re such fickle beings…
I do not say
it’s always right or proper
to stop to see such shining
in a place that so frequently
tortures so many,
but how else,
and for what other reason,
would we go on?
Dark Matter 