Loisada
Snow fell hard on Orchard street,
The buildings of the block's
Dirt veneers became an icecapade
As sellers closed their shops.
Garbage and gaggles of
Wet white bread that lined the gutters
Were put to bed beneath
A thick blanket of snow.

The spot where a week before
A blind man sang for change
Among the churn
Of bargain hunting jewish ladies
Now shooshed me.

I'd stood on a wooden bridge
One summer night,
A million coupled fireflies
Under the boughs around me,
Sure that I'd been allowed
To see stars mate.
And now,
Snow sparked the same
As it fell,
And blew in drifts
Against my cracks,
Stopping the last drafts
In my happiness.



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