Detective Harry: ‘Good light, nice drama. Way too much negative space. Don’t be afraid to put more in.‘
‘Read this poem and come back in a month.’
—
—What’s this poem about? What’s this got to do with winter?
‘My tab’s due…time to go.’
—‘Okay, Harry, all right…’
—
Blizzard
Snow falls:
years of anger following
hours that float idly down —
the blizzard
drifts its weight
deeper and deeper for three days
or sixty years, eh? Then
the sun! a clutter of
yellow and blue flakes —
Hairy looking trees stand out
in long alleys
over a wild solitude.
The man turns and there —
his solitary track stretched out
upon the world.