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The Author Is Dead

Juliano Zaffino - The Author Is Dead - Blog


Juliano Zaffino

'snowfall stopping...'

'snowfall stopping...'

It’s 9:02am and I’m running late to work again.
It’s snowing thick, fast falling, unusual so soon,
Beneath the white sky by white fields in white air
Behind a white car, trundling along, rubber-deep
In the slurry and the sludge, unchanging. I am bored
Of the tedious triptych of flurry, frostbite and sloth
On this unending journey when, around the bend,
I approach a bridge and then – under, going through –
Snowfall stopping in the tunnel. Ahead the snow
Is barely falling, seems only to hover, only to dance
Like lovers at Christmas, softly close to huddle
For warmth and I can see the space between
Each troupe of flakes as they pirouette in time
To the slowest Björk song playing in my car,
An infinite instance of empty space, waiting about,
About to be filled – and as the tunnel ends
So does their quiet, the slow silence of happily falling
Snow now caught in windrush run down by a red
Mini Cooper blazing pointedly past. They are a million
Icy martyrs prostrate on glass, dashing to their deaths.

We are all of us icedrops waltzing for a while, suspended;
And then rushing headfirst into traffic – red metal, warm glass.