This is my first trip to Arizona.
And I've enjoyed sitting in the sun in the middle of January.
But I thought that you people should
know what you're missing.
So I'm going to start with a snow poem.
[LAUGHTER]
"Weather Forecast"--
Somewhere, it is about to snow.
If not in the northern suburbs, then in the west.
If not there, then here.
And the wind, which is camouflaged now
by the perfect stillness of trees,
will make some weather cock dizzy with its fickle breath.
In the blood's failing heat, we wait for the verdict of snow.
You bite into an apple with the sound boots make crunching
through the first icy layers.
The whites of your eyes are cold.
The moons of your nails are frozen mounds.
A single match striking against the bottom of a shoe
is our only prayer.