swells out our vacancies and fills
our absences, takes our external things –
depressions, marks and habits
of our habitation – makes the shapes
of people in them, evens out
our imprints on the world.  Snow’s own
armies march down sunken lanes;
park benches pillow snow, like sleepers;
outdoor chairs are slouched with snow,
like sitters; boots left out to air at back doors
get cold feet and shuffle at the thresholds
of our warmer places.
So we step, again,
into the snow, impress ourselves, again,
on blanknesses that know our shapes
already with the mind of winter – beautifully
know no thing – no such nothing, take
the uncompared impressions of the urgency
and hesitation, eagerness and shiftings
of each footprint – just as singular and fleeting
as each flake and equally indifferent to the whole.

One thought on “Snow

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s