It was something about the way
The snow falls and falls but can do nothing more
Than paint the tree branches white

The wood floors frozen, scuffed

Our dreams of the lemon-yellow kitchen

The sky blue front door
Hipbones sharp and small
The shoulder blades of a bird
The scale numbers falling

Bare trees and dull brown birds

The snow is water

Where it touches the earth
Underneath the warm spices
And the cool blue dish soap
The smell of age that does not go away

The lights in the hallway went

Burning out one by one the rungs of the banister

Casting shifting shadow patters on the oriental carpet
The sound of music from another room
A strange and clumsy heartbeat
The gray-blue pair of shoes

Things I didn’t want but took anyway because

We have a right to take anything not denied to us

Anything not tied down