Evening of Confetti

CONFETTI

Late evening when the snow has fallen
and before plows roll round untrod streets,
I tread, my dog and I.
The only sound is the silent snow
falling upon snow.
It’s the sound every poet hears
when he opens up his ears.
In the street lights’ glare
flakes stream in sparkling white confetti
celebrating the beauty of this cold, cold night.

By Anthony Buccino
from the forthcoming collection AMERICAN BOY

Stormi and her snowman

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