That night

the temperature dropped

and the gentle powder

became a black rain.

By morning the ground

was bitter frosting.

The roads were paved

with glass.

The trees dripped crystals.

The skies weighed heavy with

static and ashes.

Trucks roared by,

spraying salt like diamonds.

A silver wind sang at

every windowpane

everything was

grey

Everything is a work in progress.

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