i know
many people
who wouldn’t spend
all sunday afternoon
by a creek in the woods
waiting for a glimpse
of muskrat or nuthatch
wondering in the meantime
over falling snowflakes
how they melt against
a clear pool’s surface
yet do not make
the water wet
sure
i know these people
but i haven’t seen
much of them lately
on a big-moon night
the snow throws sparks
and both eyes leap to catch
what can’t be caught
instantly
the instant
disappears
here
not-here
on a big-moon night
in snowstorms
for some reason
trees are more
like people
which is to say
people appear
which is to say
borders blur
why
i wonder
in snowstorms
what is it
about crystals falling
from the depths of sky
that makes my i
just another i
that tells me
don’t miss the forest
for the trees
for what feels to me
like a long three minutes
the tiny black spider
explores my bootprint
one thousand miles
ten thousand miles
one hundred thousand miles
blank snow everywhere
i do not doubt
the significance of this life
in this endless white
but neither do i understand
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This article appears in Winter Reading Issue 2021.
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