you wear a decade of snow as a cape/unfurling it at straggling swifts
to clip them like loose threads.
you enact dread through vacuous drafts of old plays you sweep through/
appearing in each act as a ghost to let us know we wronged you
on the nape of your neck/ a necklace of flakes lined up and punctured uniquely to
death then threaded precisely with string.
you are porous and dense but when we cut into you to count your rings—
we find you have none.
hell, you are the vapor trapped in tossed-out white goods/
barely detectable but for the shell.