A zebra photographs this scene,
His skin is more indigenous than mine.
A slanting wind, a slanting roof
Unhinge the pinwheel of the mind:
What is left is black and white.
The lake strums beneath the ice
And covets distance in your face.
Miles of miracles converge,
And what of thought is left in place
Is all illogical and lace.
Each tree, a manikin of frost,
Invites its lover wind to feast;
Love is christened and swirled
In the new joy covering the beast:
Snow is the wedding of the world.
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