The snow in the parking lot
Like weeks come to end
While we work at our desks,
Quietly, in the service of blank minds.
Cars now white molds—cold intimations
Of cars, now toys.
The walk is smooth,
Our footsteps are gone.
Of course! There is sense to it all:
That weather defines us,
That cars prove irrelevant,
That nature eclipses our trace,
—Adrian Astur Alvarez
BIO: Adrian Astur Alvarez writes fiction and poetry in Seattle, Washington. He is famous for his tweets, which can be read and followed @AdrianAlvarez. He may also be contacted through his website www.adrianasturalvarez.com.