The Whtening

The Whitening

I remember
the attic window
would form
iced crescents
in the winter
and the sun’s rays
would separate
into blues and reds
as they passed through
and into my eyes.

There, in the chill
and stillness,
I’d smoke
imaginary cigarettes
and watch the world
bundle up against
the cold.

In my solitude
I could see the snow
float by my window
and from my vantage
I could trace
the path of a flake
from the tops of trees
to the hedgerow below

and in time the shrubs
would resemble crumb cakes
and the tips of grass
would reach out
before their snowy burial
and cat paws would leave
abstract images
on the whitening
sidewalk.