Featherweight flakes fall at 4 a.m.
Lacing a mesh veil across the shingled rooftops
Subduing the soundwaves and snores into silence
Muffling the wail of the morning's crime hounds.
Yet, soft as long-hair fur
It clings delicately to eyelashes,
Drawn by the same invisible electric gravity.
Sticky, static sparks flutter past streetlights and signposts.
Unguided, they heed no direction
Follow no prescribed path
But wander along in the wistful wind,
Spiraling away from a simple diagonal decline.
They hop back up toward the heavens
Catapulting and kareening joyfully back aloft
Momentarily lighter than the air.
But the arabesque eventually ends.
Begrudgingly, they reunite with the downward road
To rest on a riot of their peers.