Day 8

these days of fire and ice: Los Angeles is burning
while here the snow and ice turns us ugly

this all reads like the fairly predictable 3rd Act
of a movie no one wanted credit for making

Day 9

watch the moon set at 3 in the morning
a slightly orange quartered piece of citrus

tomorrow the sky will fall again: call out then
the brigades of sandwich bread and toilet paper hoarders

the next trial run apocalypse
will make the moon stay in bed

Day 10

the deafening quietude of snow
has settled and we are past dress rehearsal

tell me again, Geyorgi, if we remember the words
that will allow us to offer genuine prayers