the snow we received seemed to put all

its effort into indenting an unfinished

paragraph.

something about depressed levity &

footprints.

which called for Chopin's: Nocturnes--

that flapped with yellow caution tape.

which sectioned off a massive burial

mound of Christmas trees, heaped

individualities brushed white in a

parking lot.

how memorably Chopin played to their

lying positions, clean cut stumps sticking

out from weighted litheness.

cut, dressed, posed & tossed--the

overstayed welcome of hysterical

merry making.

one could almost see every single pine

needle in the scent they parted with.

Chopin knew just how to reach them

with his sensitive phrasing, getting into

those frigid hollows awaiting pickup.