Snowfalls Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The snow falls like confection; it falls all day,
And slows us down like love scenes,
Or duelists crossing swords:
It blankets the horses and turns my hair gray:
Such snow, so much, where does it come from
But the sky, concealing the way tardy birds should
Migrate. For its too late for their wedding day,
But let them eat this cake, this building up of weather,
The hoariness of more loss, the irony that it is coming to fruition,
Over the palms of immaculate hands,
Over her lips like gloss: Fields and fields of snow,
Turning, as if an overturned globe, all men white,
So they might now all sing and get the best trophy wife;
But such weather cannot last, and when the sun jumps up
It will be revealed, the scars on my chest, the crack windshield:
But what really will be lost but the weather, which turns around
Again: kids go back to school, but this is the end.