Snowfall in Streetlamps
There is a place not sought
that finds me often to remind
me kindly that it, in time,
will finally bind me.
Where cracked streets pass through
once sweet grass like veins whose pulse
throbs in beats cast from the clean shafts
of light which fall from these street lamps.
In the frigid bite of winter’s night fat
flecks of snow born into flight fall
tumbling into street lamp’s light where
I can hold them in my sight.
And I can only stand and stare
as flakes fall through the lit, dark
air and suddenly I am aware
that one day I will find me there.