cloud made of snow
the swirl and twirl of it
at night in a flashlight’s beam
like a swarm of souls
i’ve taken a break from breaking
news of bank runs
to stand on the porch and gaze
up into a well of darkness
cold little dagger-kisses
die on my cheek
the wind has come hissing
down from the ridgetops
and is getting into everything
i can hear it rummaging about
refusing to settle
as the snow does
or the dust indoors that clings
to my canted mirror
slowly burying
my image alive