Stop your struggling to descend to fast—
rest awhile you are so tired.

Soft snow sings a siren’s song—
hides her graveyard of the never seen again.

Last year snapped up from her bed
snatched three toes off in her touchless mouth—

disguised as cotton, mother-nuzzling my head.
She would have swallowed me without a sound

if my party had not seen the blinking flare.
Now I shout out to the crystallizing moon

The snow is lying. She is gouging out my eyes.
A white gowned Satan draws me down.

Children, spurn the dealer who sets his price at life.
Do not listen children, to high lying snow—

when she says her bosom is not cold.