From “Glossary of Snow”
alcrept
long days and nights of a tiny particulate snow falling on dry drifts and influenced by a
hint of wind, light, but steady, until the landscape is entirely changed without any
noticeable event
From the flicker and stutter of indoor power, all outside
appears a grey aquarium as alcrept comes, tint click specks
at glass, crustacean ticks on seafloor, quilts of scripture unsutured
into scraps and patches, now adrift in endless waves of zikr
old as sturgeon, listed tenets of religion, liturgies of fishes form
and unform in requiems of themselves, as grey layered currents
shift whole histories in minutes. Then let the activist rest,
as the delicate drift persists, unlit, undriven.
When we wake, in a fortnight, all will be changed, and no shot fired,
no severed heads, no one jailed, no congress entrained.
