Seeing snow 
before others 
stir awake
is like 
being handed
your own 
birthday cake 
before the 
knife slices
and others 
do take 

The light it
came bouncing in
like lazy flashlights 
or far away
headlights searching through 
and over hills
bathing my room 
in an eerie 
iridescence akin to
a student solving 
a math problem 
a quiet ahh
followed by huh
as I peek
and see snow 

The outside is 
a frosted donut 
in a tray
of silent white 
like some baker
with a shaky
hand scattered icing 
all over everything 
soon though the 
sun will come 
like hungry hands 
and not even 
footprints will remain 

Love is
no fairytale 
it’s a 
war zone 
with bullets 
flying overhead 
and just 
us two 
hunkered down 
together there
and waiting 
watching and 
wondering when 
and if
and the 
million other 
nots and 
we decide 
that it’s 
just us 
who will
be the 
others yes

Pots and pans 
cups and saucers
hand me downs 
and long forgottens 
make their way
back to being 
new when in
the eager hands
of those without 
be it heirlooms 
or even tools
the old things 
tend to bring 
the treasured glory