There’s a temptation to see it
as deterioration,
a shift from perfection,
the descent of long days
to long nights, darkness intruding
on the morning, low clouds obscuring
the sunrise, now a matter of faith.
It creeps in, gradually,
then all at once
like the drizzle that has fallen
throughout the night, until now:
the moment sleet becomes snow,
gray suddenly turning white,
the sky no longer falling but floating.
