It’s time to be alone, solitary
As light upon the snow;
Snow comes down to warn me Whitman is dead,
And the wounded boys lie uncared for on hospital cots;
Snow reminds me how much it costs
To blow up a city, and how Einstein longed
For a reasonable god. Icicles hang
From the drainpipe. The oil furnace
Rumbles below. The president speaks, snow
Lies over the fields, and the Indians
In full retreat, march north though the Dakotas.