snow

when fire falls off the air
lost in the tumult of atmospheric descent,
when the silence of the birds
is lost in the hushed whisper of imminent winter,
when the swollen sky's belly
loses itself in the enormity of november's gray,
and when what would be rain
is impregnated by the stillness of its joy,
then water is kissed by crystal
and the ivory feathers fall,
blanketing the earth under the smooth dream,
the furious placidity of the immense white wave,
the snow.

the air is silent, all sound is from within,
the multitude of falling flakes
reflect the inner quiet:
all things, time and space,
earth and sky,
are frozen for the long moment it takes
for winter to let loose its endless white-haired wisdom.

and the children sing, cry out,
let's go! for this order of tranquil perfection
is not to last forever when a child's boots come stomping,
when the sleds and mittens and imagination unhinged
are set loose upon these white planes.
the whole world is an amusement park ride
and the cold bite of winter's icy teeth
do nothing to slow the advance of children at play.

and when at last, through hunger or exhaustion,
or for steaming mugs of warm cocoa,
they take respite from their conquest,
the wood stove hisses from the icicles accumulated
on pant legs and scarves and hats
now hanging above.
skin gone red and numb now glow crimson
with blood rushing to reunite with warmth.

the day progresses, the snow continues,
the tracks are covered up, more feathers
adorn the winged crystal dream
of the hibernating earth,
and from inside the windows steam,
heightening the sense of this life we live
from inside an ever-changing
molecule of water.