so I’ll sit in my box-like space
between the brain and its shell
and I’ll browse Job
and wonder at the strangeness of it all

then as the torpedoed sky
closes in upon me
I’ll recall the storied breaths
of the wind that sang so tunelessly

and covering me
with its white shift of nudity
is the last snow that ever came
and its silence is deafening
© C.S.G.