Shake the little plastic dome

And Hansel and bucolic Gretel

Disappear in a miniature foam,

Pseudo flakes that come to settle


Over all the leafy PVC

Which our childlike make-believe

Wants to see as a storm-tossed tree

On the verge of Christmas Eve,


A white-out as an act of will,

Not much different than the world

Currently outside our window sill,

Except that what is therein swirled,


Although invisible, is genuine,

Or at least we’re inside looking out,

Whereas being outside looking in

Leaves some room, perhaps, for doubt.