And they want no part of yours,
Which is why they’re found in snow
Or would be found, but they’re snow.
They’re so much like snow they fall,
Their veils the masks for their veils,
And all you can note’s faint wind,
The leaves played the part of mice
And then were brought in the house.
There they go, the way light shifts
When they lift from their bare field—
White stage, blank screen—more pale space.
Once the world’s too warm and life
Grows back, green and bronze, they’re gone.
By the time they’re back, you’re gone.
