Late flew the whorl afluttering, Alighting in paving cracked by years Of the kind of winters we have here.
When ice-rain lets fly we ask Who paid the fare to Overwinter in the city, To watch the linden trees Lose their leaves?
The lost and found of weeks now in Icy streets, where exhaled breaths lift Weary, fine fur-lined faces.
Let’s fly, now, as seeds do in the great fall. Let’s twirl now and chance the ground for The seeds we have here fall far from the tree.
In your face, in the face of known traces To come, the embrace of floating seeds: Makeshift towns dance at crossroads where Villages against the early snow Like islands caught, combine, in the drift.