Walking to the bus stop past the Center for Performing Arts.

The 'aliens,' 60 feet tall,
invisible against the sky
open lines and stringy limbs
It's much too cold for dancing.

The sky shakes her fist, but
her threat is less than dim. The snow--that
distinctive smell of white--
can't be convinced to stay.
It falls but leaves no evidence, only
wind, and a frigid walk
between stop lights.
the Walking Man imitates the dancers
but he is too persistent
(and too short, to boot). Tonight,
I see myself in him, for it is
much
too cold for dancing.