finished for the day . the snow shovel waits, until . called upon again
allow extra time . is what the snow is saying . but we do not hear
out of reverence . the world speaks in hushed voices . after a snowstorm
when motion ceases . there a two choices; struggle . or wait for the thaw
searching for context . in the winter grey, the mind . imagines conflict
just when one season . becomes too familiar . it becomes the next
horizontal lines . breakup the landscape, project . the myth of control
a snowstorm’s chaos . ends up as decoration . on a sturdy wall
every snowstorm . hides delicate surprises . for the winds to take
snow clings to berries . not for the flavor, rather . that’s where it landed
uptown jack 