There's no snow in this poem...

but something about its mood reminds me of today's, as we are in the midst of a quiet snowfall...


I walk in the mornings before the sun
emerges from its orange cave.
And in its absence pretend I own
this quiet street, these sleeping houses.
I claim it all –
until neighbors lift shades, switch
on lights, gather newspapers from porches.
While I can, I walk
this black and white world,
naming as I go: sidewalk, street light,
and when almost home, dawn.

Published in YANKEE Magazine, 2001

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