Make-Up After Light Snow Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

Through the window
I see cotton flies
sail down with chalk dust
writing out in falling
and slanting script

a stretchy message
from morning gods
only whirring and muttering
into expanding deities' ears.

I rise to grab
with my long-armed eyes
outside's body
exhausting her range
of cream toiletries,

as gnat and cricket-sized
white butterflies
hover and drop down,

foam splashes
and rolling suds
flying out of her waxy body.

(ii)

A drizzle of pearl
and alabaster shivering
with straight
and curled threads
unwind and pull down.

Stretching to cling onto
lose stitches of air
with stuck feathers
and floating daisy wings

holding air's silver body
tightly, as she stands
in her waxy dripping mass.

(iii)

How a light wind
pedals a sewing machine
to push and toss down
more white threads.

Through a creeping pattern
and fitting style,
they hang and lie,

sketched by morning's tailor
marking out
with thin ecru lines
the contours of an outfit.

After quiet sewing
with threads of drizzles
and woolen fibers of snow,

outside's body stands
widening out tree branches
flying out
with air's oversized gown

of a cream color
full of silver and crystal beads
from glued and hanging dew.

Airs body stretches out,
garlanded with tumbled stones
and soft melting gems.