Some days seem significant.

Premature lacewings hatch in the house.

Crawling over vast wastes of plastic

they fly toward light.

outside, snow is crusted.  Inside,

Insects programed in perfection—

on the wrong side of the window

This evening Cabernet Sauvignon,

mushroom omelette.

Outside, rain has brought up worms.

They lie exhausted in straight lines.

Some are drowned.

Narrow and pink at either end,

they cannot decide which direction.

I have decided on blank pages.

In them you can travel forever;

white flying toward your eyes;

as when driving through falling snow

you see only those snowflakes

you are cutting across;

relentlessly horizontal..