Snow
falls and falls and falls, down, falls to a stop, a stopping fall, a stop piling, raising its roof,
no rooftop now, a rooftop gap across our fifth-floor window, and sky gaps, gaps in clouds, missing bits of world, I in my room watch this blanching, photos of my world torn up by bits, no cars, no walking, paying back sky, our city pays with trucks and awnings, cracks and signs and roads into its banks, mouth of sugar, mouth of sky, licking back dark, licking away balcony, licking as I lay for all hours of no night, washing away our halls, our stairs, scrubbing off a front door, bathroom, windows, floor—walls of snow, room of snow, my walls of snow on which a door is hung.
to
hard to sit
it is so with you
is
it so hard to sit with you
it is hard to sit with you
so
sit with
it is so hard to you
so hard to sit with
it is you
to sit with you
it is so hard
with you
it is so hard to sit
you
it is so hard to sit with
Sean Denmark, a native of Alabama, now lives and teaches in New York City. His poetry has most recently appeared or is forthcoming in Grey Sparrow, Atlanta Review, and Bellevue Literary Review. More of his work can also be found via his website www.seandenmark.com.