Lacking decorations, We cut folded snowflakes From computer paper And hung them from the ceiling Near the air vents. Adults imitating children. All week long they drifted there. Above the whirr of printers and CPUs, Drawing eyes upwards Into descending swirls of snow Haloed in lamplight. Visions of slumbering streets Cushioned in white. In January, we took them down. And missed their simple peace.