Pointed, brilliant drifts of snow
pierce the evening of winter.
Curving upward they arch
to a luminous, cyclopean moon.
A guest, humble, I stand here
beneath flickers in northern skies.
Icy grains atop snow drifts,
move obediently for winter gusts.
One drift releases grains to its neighbor.
Tumbling crystals, indifferent, brush sodden drifts.
A rabbit stops to listen.
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| Paul Krapf image adapted |
