Night has embalmed the trees in water turned

To ice. There could be sparrows hiding—where,

However, no flesh seems to know—the only

Aim the living sustain today is movement

Along the snow, to keep the motion steady.

Again, in the case of winter versus city,

Winter has beaten city, but with brutal

Softness, so that city lays herself down,

Though in a faux submission. She will play

The part this whiteness asks; they play this part

Together as they scan their muted pageant,

A blustery monument to themselves (saying):

See how the slim bare branches bear the thickness

That afflicts them. See how the human tries

To navigate a scene where all distinction

Has been taken. See the shovel, hear how

It scrapes across the pavement in a rite

Of defiance. See them sow salt on paths,

Purged of the usual murmur of their thoughts

And voices. See they only seem to note

Their steps now, one after the other. See what

Happiness we have smothered on this city.