The newscaster promises snow,
thick white water clumps
to drift down from the sky
and blanket the grass,
the road,
the railings and decking,
so we can stay inside,
burrow in the blankets
without guilt.
Later, we step out into the world,
freshly-painted with ice and snow
that clings to our eyelashes,
touches our hair so delicately
that we know this cannot last.
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