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7 NEWPAPER underapenisn’t snow.Iseetherealthing outmywindowpiledup incoldsunlight.Itjustisn’t. Isn’talapse ofanyone’smemorythough thatmighthelpmesleep.I’manyone atnight. Newpapergettinginkedup alreadywithwords.Revision:inkedup alreadywiththesewords. Butitis,itis acoldwarmovie aboutRussia.Lotsoftundra,andlittle mustachedfiguresbundledup inthecorner,waiting todosomething.Onskis. Ordogsleds.Athrow-back.Before theRevolution?BeforetheRevolution. Ornot.Ican’tmakeitout forthesnowlocked backinthattheater, voicesthatblast theeardrum straight,suchwould-bewhispers oflove.Howisit thattimehas layersandlayers, someofwhichnevermove orfillup.Meanwhile:afavoriteword anypoemunderstandstobe snow’smostlegendarysuggestion. Thesecond:melt. Thethird:Ineedto freezefirst. ...