Why worship whiteness always, what virtuein that candor, what quality? Facealways the same, same turning awaywhen you turn, same singular routinehypothesis: one man in one posture, one worldlike a relief map of the world. When he turnsyou are turning from the summary glance, a littlelight captured in the momentary retina, butreversed. Forget the long discussions of the soulyou might have held while weeks fell into winter,forget the death of Socrates, a paper cup of wisdomspilled on linoleum. In Hesiod’s Theogony, I’m told,the Muses say, We are capable of making lies soundtrue, but we can also tell the truth. You wanderlike a blind cat through your night, firstidea of sky which weather only contradicts. Headlightsand streetlights shadowbox across the shades: you toowill never touch. How many nightshave you maintained pale skin nothing mars(walking out past three A.M. to be convinced the truecan become beautiful), until a sleepless dawnallows for no more stars and allegories? Algol,Regulus, Altair, Rigel and Betelgeuse, the lightslesser and great with Arabic or Latin names, whiteluminosities. That man and his blond cowlick live alonein paradise with a forecast of light rain, a tenementof token clouds against a tarp of blue felicities. Downfrom the Great Rif to barrier reef, the snowgoes where it will, and when. (I have come from goingto and fro in the earth, and from walking up and downin it, but I have come.) Your winter steals the signalflesh and ruins it, leaves limbs at broken angleson the slope and green bottle glasssmashed into the speckled pavement: a sheer wasteof transparencies laid over midnight. It keepsa flawed reflection of the sky, constellationspast the tree line blurred by the walkingstreetlights home. The glassed-in contradictions keeptheir distance, but they keep. (You made your myth, now liein it.) The body stiffens as it wakes, sheathed by a coldwindow left open, the recurring dream of glaciers, lyingin its mirror. Open your hand and let it go, zerodown to less than that, and then less than what’s left.That’s you. The snow begins as clouds and endsas any water. Navy, royal, azo, aquamarineand indigo: I’ve drowned too many nightsin blue. Even historical weathers leave a trace.