Winter White (Poetry)

The world is bleached and somehow pure
as though it’s taken some blind cure
to purge itself — begin again
blot out all traces left by men.

A pristine coat, a virgin veil
to clothe earth uniformly pale
disguising every weal and scar
with shining sequins — star on star.

Smooth, its fabric miles of skirt
drape wide across uneven dirt
with the odd flounce and frozen fold
to hide what’s broken, seal with cold.

Lace and velvet stitched so neat
the hemmed-in fields and ribboned street
dressed demurely overnight
they dazzle — decked in winter-white.