Narcotic Winter

The snow under the porchlight, the sight
a slow burn. The boy lies in the snow
like an angel in cocaine, a slain angel
put to sleep by too much
white. The boy under the porchlight, he
is waving his wide wings. Do not look
at the snow or step on the angel. Light
like a match, the burn chases
you into the white. The boy slain, under
the porchlight. The snow will redden,
the wings filling in. Do not close your eyes.