Glare

Sharp lines against 

a dark sky, illuminating 

the street below. Snow blows

in the wind, glowing bright white

as it passes under the bulb's reign, then

disappears again in to the dark backdrop. I 

watch the dots move in and out, follow them to 

the ground. Thousands of feet fallen, just to land on

my shoulder. I dodge in and out of the light, glancing

at fellow night dwellers aross the street, snow falling on 

them, too. The sun, for now, is gone. But there are streetlamps

to glow, light our way. Darkness is relative, and the glare is harsh.