Nimble like deer grazing,

people walk upon the snow

and the traffic shines afar

like fireflies slowly moving 

in the bluish mist of early evening;

the naked trees of the park

are black and tangled, showing

the fat flakes off. We tread

into the first snow slowly,

trying to get ahead to where

we are going in 2020.

Blessed by the lazy Saturday,

we snuggle in beds or do chores

as the snow continues on.

Thomson Ave. is silenced during the morning of Black Friday—only the constant row of cars over Queens Plaza Yards offer any escape and life.

The walking streets by the 7 train are bare; the new skyscrapers shine by the 9 o’clock sun.

I’m the only one at work on time

in Long Island City. No money makes me save like a hoarding dragon—no-go into the stores today. 

Must earn my keep after the big family meal; fighting after-effects of wine and sleepiness—must work with silence— 

but I love silence. That’s when the ideas come.