This is the moment of clarity (perhaps it is a dream):
An expanding snowdrift, lit in a snowstorm’s hazy dark light,
it appears to you not as a mountain
but as a great expanse of water,
& underneath -you know- lies a dead body. Your father’s,
or maybe your brother’s.

The snow falling: at first you mistake it , it promises
warmth in drowning...

You wish it was as easy as the image
of the funeral procession underneath
your apartment.
The long march of cars so pitch-black and shinning:
As soldiers they seem so heavy with some dumb purpose,
each car with the promise of another behind it,
and all the quiet people inside, waiting, suspended
right before their exact moment of sorrow.
and it is so painful to think that this line of cars will end.

“But you’re so silly”, the snow weeps to you,
“to think that the ground and the burial
could offer some victory.

“To think that those cars don’t in fact go on forever.
That it’s not the long soft lull
we have all been waiting for.”