In a few short weeks
(everything in) my life changed.
I want to say derailed, but
it was a long slow crash,
red flags snapping all the way.
Then, the other morning,
I awoke to snow filtering
through cedars in cascades
toward my window so slow
my heart skipped a beat.
How such beauty continues
lies beyond comprehension.
Mind stills and gapes wide,
holds the guileless moment
as a template for eternity.
There were no survivors.
Angels' wings in crescendo
beat the winter air, undoing
a tangled lacework of lies.
The stories we tell ourselves
to get by or go on from day
to distressing day. Silence
remains, then and now,
shelters the smithereens,
enfolds them in its cold embrace.
YOU ARE READING
The Smell of Snow
PoetryFrom my home on a tiny island, I smell snow as it begins to fall on the mountains across Baynes Sound. A smell that goes directly up your nostrils with a slight hint of metal or ozone, a bit like refrigerant. And of course I love to confirm my sense...
