More serious snow
cuts into the night
with the sinuous hands
of those in pain
and those in the know
Salt of my grief, cure
layer upon layer
of washed ground
and the upturned knuckles
of blizzard-bent trees.
Gently sift through black branches,
coil at the lee corners of houses.
Caught in the headlights,
mesmerize with patterns hypnotic
until bold and breathless,
heap upon heap
the whiteness
the painless
the serious
snow.
December 10, 2000