Colourblind

He stumbles into the snow
—furies trace the dark
where the snowclouds come
up from under the hill
his footsteps fall behind
the road, the night, long—
stumbles into a drift,
the streetlamp drops
a raft of cider light
at the lee of the curb
tethered there in snow,
edge of an ocean
overcome, dreaming,
a world costumed yellow
for a dance under light, light
like a Baltic king
fishsmelling and sallow,
a dance the rushing drifts,
outer night, threaten to swallow,
light grown replete,
and beyond, in sleep,
in sleet, houses bunched
like grey mushrooms,
a kingdom of the monochrome,
blinding, dressed in weeds
of white, a crown
and an ivory throne—

but the boy is lost
and he will lie awake in
the bathing halogen until
his gills are full of snow.