The Snow Goes to the Gallows of a Warm Grass and What Survives
The deepest redress is a thick and fulsome snow.
Peaceful prevail of afternoon,
looking out at this bluish marvel the air.
The snow realizes you a body, puts on you a hat,
tombs you in its second nature, with consequence
of sepia, a leaking dusky blue.
The snow fumbles at your borders,
wants a way in.
In the snow we are angelic
and it’s not discouraging in fact it is marvelous
when the snow has its arms around us
and we walk the streets as if safe.
You’re a child, even in midlife.
The snow clouds us in its peppery breath
and the air comes fresh.
It comes and goes and comes again
it doesn’t aim for durability
it accumulates for the sake of it
& doesn’t want to last.
The snow, I envy it,
it will vanish
but it doesn’t care,
it’s its own garden,
its own cool chalky paint—
an alabaster splendor
then retreats without complaint.