2006 January:

Parka fur halo bristling in the wind
You're like a fallen angel lingering in sin
to stare back at
heaven's blaring light
Its simmering snow glare
a cold stare
that you shut out with
dark hood blinkers

you become Janus
a backward forward thinker

You have no peripheral vision
You turn inward
Your eyes, not seeing,
narrowed in at your driven feet
your path, fallow ground,
traced onto January's Street.