Blank page wavering before my eyes;

Like the stainless snow-blanket when you’re shut in.

And all I want to do is to stamp through it;

Befoul its pure virginity with my big, clumsy footprints

And send the whiteness flying back from me.

Cut off from that possibility.

The white white white of it taunts me; haunts me,

Knows my desire and denies it again again.

Nothing but the need for imperfection drives me;

The longing to see white marred by darkness,

And the drip,

Drip as snow melts off my stoical shoe.