nothing sticks too much these days
everything slipping away from itself
kernels of meaning dissipating before they form
but maybe the earnest teens building a snow fort
are something to latch on to
cheering when the girl
with the cherry skirt and doc martens 
arrives back up the hill with two boxes of pizza
and the civil, yet empowered, conversation 
of who will have a second slice and who will not
it seems possible for everyone to get what they need
and somebody’s parents will have hot cocoa 
ready for all of them at 4:30
a few shovel snow into a large storage container
one of the smaller ones packs it down with his feet
one more strapping one lugs the huge snow brick over 
and heaves it to the wall
it's all adding up to something
they must be Waldorf types
working together, wear cozy wool hats 
not negging each other
only cursing when talking about trauma or injustice
the homeschooling mom next door 
tells us that each snowflake
forms around a piece of dust
like the dust of my dry winter skin
floated way up high
to be the core
of a whole new thing