shall i tell you about the ephemeral sparkle of light on wood
as each piece of cracked glass in the vase
caught and held the lampgleams for a moment
reflecting them back in the mirrored shine of walnut —
or about the pale slender bodies of the candles
leaning toward each other across the expanse of the dressertop —
or about the golden streetlights
shining outside my window
on the softly falling snow?
