Snow Storm up Twenty Stories

Buildings force the snow to slalom,
Driving it around tight corners,
Forcing it down narrow passages,
And at such heights it’s a white river current,
Light enough to be whipped by the wind,
Bent until it strikes, hawklike, past our windows
On its way down, down, down
To settle on streets and shoulders.
An abrupt end to a wild fall
From the heights of God
Through the towers of Man
To the all-holding firmness of Earth.


I haven’t forgotten you.

I’ve made a mistake and now work in a writer’s sweatshop. It’s hard to find time to think for oneself, let alone write it down. I’ll do better. I should also write this on my other blog…

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