There's a patch of old snow in a corner
That I should have guessed
Was a blow-away paper the rain
Had brought to rest.
The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
In the usual iconography of the temple or the local Wok
you would never see him doing such a thing,
tossing the dry snow over a mountain
of his bare, round shoulder,
Walking through a field with my little brother Seth
I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.
For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,
The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.
When all of a sudden the city air filled with snow,
the distinguishable flakes
looked like krill
Let the old snow be covered with the new:
The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden.
Let it be hidden wholly from our view
By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden.