First Snowfall Infinities of crystals, each, a white
six-sided lace alone, together weight
enough to pull electric line from height
to heavy sideways sagging C-shape, bright
against the brighter silver coated field
day long had fallen. Dolphin, starfish, bird,
whatever swims December, swam in wild
immensities of ice. From pine, unheard,
fell spangled frozenness. Then, one bird flew
its redness through that time of snowfall when
one color only coats the world. Blue,
all others, are October's, March's then.
That night, we walked through whiteness, you and I
and down the dark we heard the owls cry.
Second Snowfall At year's end, every winter weather crossed
the county. Flecks of geometric light
congealed on sidewalks. Frozen branches tossed
in wolf teeth wind. From river's edge, a white mist
fogged suburb. Everything begins
in hope: mornings, journeys, baseball games.
Thereafters disappoint, as do agains.
New day. New snow. Each dogwood, pear tree blooms
-- an artificial April. New Year. Now,
eat bread, embrace. We cannot know
how long the frozen fields will fill with snow,
nor what is food for foxes, circling crow.
Whatever weathers, though we falter, fall,
my love, with love, let us, each season, fill.