Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes
and no. No advice that sticks.
The snow comes down
like an afterthought. A flake
on the street. A flake on the nose.
Sometimes I live this way. Perhapsishly
and maybeing. Sixty-five shades
of gray. No rule I can believe in
enough to write it down. Life
itself the exception. Every day
the proof, and then this snow.
I used to think I knew what
gravity was. And love. True,
the snow comes down. But
the heart? How to explain
this rising, this infinite
falling apart, the tangled
astonishing mess. This snow
falling from nowhere. No. No. No.
No. No. No. I say. And yes.