Snow does not walk on sidewalks but it grows
like a quick coral reef, sky skeletons
on skeletons, and crystal shells on shells.
The white reefs form on benches, on the flat
of the curved mailbox, on the balancing beam
of the steel fence enclosing the trimmed park,
even on trees that do not keep their arms
by their sides, even on the tip of tongues
rosebushes stick out at the thought of cold.
Disdaining roofs, their over-furnished rooms,
how can a face look up and not sprout reefs,
but to walk fast, and hope the road is clear?