Do you see the snow,
how it spreads, gently treads
o’er lake and field?

Do you see the blue expanse
whose tracks tell some creature’s exodus
to moon sleep in a tent of pine?

Can you define the snowflakes
that bleach the shedding primal skin
and wed mud, air, and leafy wind?

From the window of this green room
I watch the world light fall, diffused in snow,
recalled to life by this night’s touch.

I say for every hair on your brown head
the snow knows hope for warmth of bed
and falls for you, a child.

The snow drifts down,
colorblind of whatever past fall confessed
but falling for your present happiness.