8.11.09
My window tells me
The earth is frozen.
I make my pitiful rounds
On the screen again
And again.
When I get tired,
I change screens
And somehow start again.
I do not know why I do this.
Each page smooth and untouched
Like the snowy surface
Of a magazine or peanut butter jar
And it feels like magic
But wrong, idle magic
And I can’t help but wonder
What it was like outside
Today.