Heavy Snow
The pine arms hang in heavy sleeves of snow,
their bases seem to open into tents
It is late evening , the whole world is blue
and I have kneed a pathway to the stump
where ice killed off a tree some years ago
and now is used for nothing but the feed
the birds fly toward to feast on winter days
Tonight it gleams a stack of bridal white
I clear it easily with one hard swipe
to sit to watch in silence as the world
becomes a catch of gathered glints and cold.
The shelter of the trees blend with the sky.
All one color, the horizon smeared,
into a sameness, but a sameness clear,
and clean, it is as smooth as shiny bone,
almost as though to mimic early dawn,
but it is evening, in my mind and soul,
and you are woven in my train of thought,
I could almost reach out to touch your sleeve,
it is that real, a longing turned belief.
Instead I go inside and try for sleep,
my head held birdlike, buried in a wing.