(Old man, turn from your window)
On a snowy day..
How stiff my limbs
It would be unthinkable
To slow my pace..
No time to stop and look
But for the cold that takes my
Breath away..
Staring down at old, flat streets..
Cracked, thistled paving stones..
Briskly, briskly now
As if the frost could catch me--
On my way..
To the center of the path
I hold my gaze
And to either side
Melting ice leaves
Patches of white, and gray