things move on.
the whole world can sit still on
purpose,
we can all anchor our flesh to
the center of the globe
but the earth will still turn.
i can dig my heels into the dirt,
and age will still move across my face.
these things are as certain
as the snow
falling
silent and slow
like a traitor's head
on a cloudy morning.
with the whole town watching
in silent shock, grateful for a swift blade
and the good fortune to still
be moving.