Drops in pressure, now, a field of cold, a shift
       between rain and snow
The movement into this remembering
       of separate things, train sounding its horn, removing
       itself from the scene
Snow thickening the far bars of trees, graying them in
Blotting, dulling, gauzing over this dream
It is snowfalling, it is beauty-filling and cleansing
       this burn of words
       it is delivering something seeming to uplift and to begin

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