in pristine powder

.
.
.
how eerily silent
.
this low and permanent sky
.
weighed heavily in veils of gray,
.
that sunrise of so forsaken a faded light
.
announces morning from night.
.
.
.

falls and falls and falls
.
this relentless snow,
.
pillowing high on window sills
.
and muting each fresh sound it buries.
.
tentative voices die slow in drifts,
.
.
.

and this morning’s rush is
.
suspended in our collective complaint.
.
such swift surrender of steely urban arrogance,
.
as my skyscraper city is helplessly
.
brought to its knees.
.
.
.

yet the under world still spins
.
and wanders in merciless carousels
.
of cruel days after hungry nights,
.
the aimless trails of pre dawn paw prints
.
pattern the pristine powder.
.
.
.
.