Walking through snowstorm, snow
          on hat, shoulders, beard,
I realize it isn’t snowing
         inside me.
My body prevents snow
         from falling in it.
It snows around but not in
         my chest, not in
My heart, not in
         my arms or legs.
My eyes see each flake
         and it registers in
My brain,
         but the snow is not in
My eyes, not in
         my brain,
Is it?

After death, if I die in the woods
         and my body decays where it falls,
It could snow in the space
         my lungs took up,
It could snow in the holes
         where my eyes were,
It could snow in my skull
         when it caves in,
It could snow where my stomach,
         my intestines were,
Inside my balls, inside
         where my cock was.
It could snow, it could drift,
         white, deep,
It could cover my skeleton,
         snowing inside where my body was
So many years.