Wednesday, January 14, 2015

What I know via snow

What I know via snow

Overnight the driveway changed colors-- skin fallen from sky, covered
from tip to tip in white. Beneath the snow the driveway can't breathe
but if it could the white would rise, fall, rise, melt as all creatures
who warm-breathe cause change and loss.

The mundane loss-- strand, sock, moon : paper, cow, star.

But then Other loss-- the speaking kinds/blood-bodied kinds-- kinds
who leave and don't look back through the rearview.


Driveway cracks, heart puddles where snow once-- now baths for the sparrow.
Sparrow and weed, snake glides without worry--

                                                              no vibration, no footprint, no tire track--

only a ghostly ache when they're gone: a silence more silent than snow.

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