White Poem by Colette Bryce

I stepped from my skis and stumbled in, like childhood,
knee deep, waist deep, chest deep, falling
for the sake of being caught
in its grip.
It was crisp and strangely dry and I thought: I could drop
here and sleep in my own shape, happily,
as the hare fits
to its form.
I could lie undiscovered like a fossil in a rock
until a hammer's gentle knock might
split it open; warm
and safe
in a wordless place (the snowfall's ample increase),
and finally drift into the dream of white
from which there is no
way back.
I placed myself in that cold case like an instrument into velvet
and slept.