Pillow Snow

The snow comes across the sky

like feathers from a pillow-

one that perhaps you have smashed

with reckless joy

against your best friend's head.

The flakes, too, are reckless.

They see me through my window.

They flock against the glass

to get a better look at me.

They show me their six identical corners.

I show them my two unique eyes.

by nessa locke 2021