Birches cluster amid wintry flurry, permitting no sight to pass.
Eyes scan for flickers—signs of either habitation or hospitality.
Where are lantern’s unguinous crumbs?
Where are sky’s celestial guides?
Where is window silled with enthreat menorah?
Where is illumination that will turn heart from hopeful to hallalujous?
Lids close as nose inhales breath’s exhalation-sigh.
Flakes remain white.
Bark remains bright.
*crunch* ; )