It’s deep winter,

Acting like the seventies.

Not the bipolar pattycake  

Snow seasons the

Past few years.

Underneath the

Glaciered patio

Are fallen flakes

From 2024.

Were I to start a dig

I might find

A flurry of ironed

Doilies. White. Gray. Clear.

No two alike, yet

Huddled together

Reminiscing

Of their descent

In December

When they were

On top of the world.