With the cold this morning
the sky is washed white
and painful to look
at directly.
The moon, up early,
is a dead fingernail
chased by the weak sun.
There is a fountain
improbably
jetting high white water
and steam just below
the parking lot.
It is frozen foam
a cold volcano
tumbling over grass, it’s
steam crystallizing in air.
It looks inviting, warm, it
is so painfully white
but I know it would
give me nothing
but grief.
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