Snow Girl

“I can taste the tin of the sky — the real tin thing. Winter dawn is the color of metal, The trees stiffen into place like burnt nerves. All night I have dreamed of destruction, annihilations. An assembly-line of cut throats, and you and I Inching off in the gray Chevrolet, drinking the green Poison of stilled lawns, the little clapboard gravestones, Noiseless, on rubber wheels, on the way to the sea resort.” (Waking in Winter - Sylvia Plath)