Snow tires trudge through grey slush as headlights 
interrogate the blizzard that has murdered
the warmth of the sun and my shadow 
melts through the grate of the sewers
where it will hibernate for months to come
indifferent about my well-being.
A snowman catcalls me from its front lawn
and beckons me near with twig arms
so I cross to the other side of the road
and pretend to talk on the phone as
my footprints are overwritten by fresh snow
almost as quickly as they are formed.
I listen to my circadian rhythm on repeat
to drown out the laments of the harsh winds.
They mourn the leaves and branches of the trees 
that once swayed along to their every command.