The Darkness of Snow

It is too early,
too dark outside to
warrant turning on a light inside.

I write in the dark so as not to
disturb the light, fragile snow
only a windowpane away; cold

so cold and yet I’m beginning to
like it that way, the striking
chill untainted by a warm mechanical breath.

Sleep comes, goes, and I fail to manage it.
I shouldn’t need to manage such a primal,
animinalistic instinct, and yet the supposed
irregularity of it’s cycle forces me
to find a pattern, something, anything

to see life as more obvious, controlled, livable.
Yet grand juxtaposition always follows for:
To see patterns, even perceived patterns
is to play God, for all patterns are part of
larger patters and so on and so forth into infinity…

So I’ll continue writing in the dark,
hoping my words will make sense,
hoping someday I can turn on a light
without fear of awakening, disturbing
the snow outside.

-Brian Minnick ‘11