Dusk and snow this hour
in argument have settled
nothing. Light persists，
and darkness. If a star
shines now， that shine is
swallowed and given back
doubled， grounded bright.
The timid angels flailed
by passing children lift
in a whitening wind
toward night. What plays
beyond the window plays
as water might， all parts
making cold digress.
Beneath iced bush and eave，
the small banked fires of birds
at rest lend absences
to seeming absence. Truth
is， nothing at all is missing.
Wind hisses and one shadow
sways where a window's lampglow
has added something. The rest
is dark and light together tolled
against the boundary-riven
houses. Against our lives，
the stunning wholeness of the world.