Poetry by




The Quiet Snow
the muffling silence of snow,
Dampening the earth,
swallowing-up lonely bird-songs like colors into white light,
Snow melting down and along the dark road
carrying secrets drifted off and forgotten.
White boulders boosting white skullcaps of snow
dripping and wet and gleaming in the sun
or gathered-up in drifts, pushed-up around scrub oak and manzanita
as if laying~up a brave assault against the heights,
Before retreating again into shadow.
Everything it touches it suspends, pauses, and holds in abeyance.
A species of forgetfulness reigns here.
Like that surrounding sentences, or words,
or the individual letters within words
All engulfed and stranded in silence.  
Snow is a language translated, 
like the pine and oak and manzanita, into forgetfulness
Covering the earth so that only the earth can hear
a distant echo of itself.
Reflected beneath the pale and ashen blanket.
The earth cries itself out in puddles and rivulets,
Hoping to be free again, unburdened.
For a season.


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