reading: new york buried in crushed snow

                    new york buried in crushed snow

       snow gets dirty so fast

        someone is coughing

                 in the next room

    interrupting this poem.

        Snow is falling outside - and already

in my previous crumping footsteps

        shows - a certain pattern 

                   of spots of brown - shit,

    i've trodden on it,

                    borne upon my airy clouds

 that to me seem hard slow and compressible_but

         to the inhabitants below, an endless crystal dream

 imagine if our sky

                   was suddenly covered , the planet encased

      like a Christmas ball turning the lights

             of the solar system all prism

          as it hung , glorious.

               Imagine if someone stepped on it! New York,

                            buried in crushed snow.

Peter Greene 2010.