Neither Snow

 When all of a sudden the city air filled with snow,
the distinguishable flakes
blowing sideways,
looked like krill
fleeing the maw of an advancing whale.
At least they looked that way to me from the taxi window, and since I happened to be sitting that fading Sunday afternoon in the very center of the universe, who was in a better position to say what looked like what, which thing resembled some other? Yes, it was a run of white plankton borne down the Avenue of the Americas in the stream of the wind, phosphorescent against the weighty buildings.
Which made the taxi itself, yellow and slow-moving, a kind of undersea creature, I thought as I wiped the fog from the glass, and me one of its protruding eyes, an eye on a stem swiveling this way and that monitoring one side of its world, observing tons of water tons of people colored signs and lights and now a wildly blowing race of snow.

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