"Word language is one of many possible kinds of language."
      --L. Wittgenstein

Call it prone, alert, derision
rephrase the wind, find it
forming a mouth

this bright and poised exhalation
streaks air
eyes are a keepsake against detritus

snow-- air heavy
the permeability of space filling
the way we use space
a looseness
snow tacking around streetlight, now
at dusk. . .

reminding
that we move, glide, are untethered
that we swallow, breathe
that this exhalation and beat
take place somewhere
that we drench ourselves in air.