I woke and there was sulfur instead of snow
Around the house and the hips
I had to wade deeply into it
Because there were not waves to carry me
There was a yellow accumulation like dried flowers
That had been macerated
There was later instead of now
Names took the places of the objects
The ones I had considered mystical
Especially in the snow
And sometimes in the rain
The people who waited in doorways
For a moment to pass
Now waited there forever
And so they seemed much more polite



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