Looking out from you,
cathedral blanketed in snow,
the precipitous fall of flakes
obscuring the night--
a strange sleight of sight
transposed by the light.
A marvelous conceit:
the raucous clamor of eternity,
all sirens and infamy
encapsulated by insulated delights.
However serene this scene
it remains discernible only at distance
--within carapaces of newer selves--
desperate to divest the infinitesimal tethers
of the hearth.
Looking back towards you,
to the exaggerated glories of youth
laden with half-chances spurned and scorned,
this moment is virginal as the faintly falling snow
evanescent
before its inevitable descent to ruin.
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