Looking out upon falling snow in a fierce wind,
having read the latest news
(that has spoiled my coffee, again—)
Gone cold, with my views or once-belief
regarding some inherent goodness—
A bleak feeling that renders even this
brutal, unkind weather beautiful
Gentle, by comparison.
Each day, what counts as News
defiles sense. Escalation,
Noah’s mythical flood
Now upon us, manmade
I feel hatred, and fear
Twin emotions, unaccustomed—
whose visages remind:
How lucky I’ve been (so far)
Each morning one awakes
with some hope,
or threads from a dream.
This morning, this blanket of new fallen snow
Darkness, sold as Light.