Poems

Halted, they confer.
From which one turns her head
as if whatever gains on them
must be acknowledged.

It is something vastly filled
by farflung snow.
A forgotten negative
suddenly printed.

It is a taking-place.
From which one turns her head
to add to what must be said.
Mist flares from their mouths

to complete itself absently
among all this. And some
clap and stamp. And that
is at once silenced.
...