I have no use for February Snows
or the salt on the half-iced roads,
and there is no great love with me
for plowblades or 2-stage abominations

But when I breathe that iced serenity
and I know that all the bugs are dead
I can let some ghosts be bygone and
prepare to bury all of the rest
under snows so directly-metaphorical
it makes my fingers cold to even
think of them.