Last Snow

In the shimmering 

depth of new snow 

there is no self. 

Glistening galaxies 

gazing from lawns 

skyward, night's wardrobe 

where all possibilities leaning 

dormant warning the next 

great unexpected 

blizzard of light, 

melting, misting, lifting 

as does fog. Tasting breath 

chilled like champagne silhouettes, 

cold as the midnight of a century and a

half-exhaled beyond living memory 

(back beyond the solar plexus.)

Remember when it began 

then forgot, and 

now is wrapped in one more 

monument of glamorous snow.