I slept in the back of your truck all the way to Hansom Park.
When I woke up, hundreds of miles had passed
and the whole earth severed by snow.
Slick winds still tossed dust at the back of the semis,
all around us the trees held out their brown hands for alms.
You and I, we take one of everything
from the medicine cabinet for all our ills.
Each morning we part the waters of sleep
reluctantly, warring with birth.
We shake a trail of coins as we go.
Snow swallows them up
piling its down all through Hansom Park.
Green pines heavy with nubs of ice
heave under the sky's influence--
restless, wind-girdled things
get away from us over the green crowds.