It's snowing. It falls down like powdered light. There's snow and all the ways we have to talk about it. There's many different kinds of weather. We narrow what we say. I want to say all the things that can ever be said and I want to say them to you. Your hair is stringy light. I like to talk and I want to make sentences that will web you back here. My words go out into the black suck point. Nothing comes back. I want you back.