I.

The light is with us

for a little while longer.

Ice is puddled under

the groaning snow and the cracking

of trees.  Our shadows

on the ground are blue,

and strewn with

preschool glitter.

II.

Like in paradise, here

there are piles of lemons

and men in aprons tending

the piles, placing those

that roll back up

at the top, so

warm I take

off my coat, as

the snow in my hair

melts it wet.

III.

The tin roof shrieks

with the wind, I’m

afraid it’ll come

off, afraid that trees

can bend so far

from the true. Later

walking amid fallen

branches, I see that

they cannot.