The stings of anemic mosquitos. Can't stop picking up sticks. His heater belches steam Like the plaid man, Tries to shake off the snow, White, yellow-white snow.
Rain drops which, for a moment, Wanted to take their time Coming down.
Up close, they fall lightly, Gentle and slow, But focus on the distance The fall is a torrent, like rain. Whether near or far, The other side of the glass Is silent. Snow ought to be. When I have to turn to work. Guitar case latch closed.