Blizzard Bacchanal


As if the earth were to go on and on forever
another four inch layer of snow silently covers
time and space out the window
stretching all the way to the ocean,

icy white powder piled up on garden furniture out back
salvaged two summers ago from
four doors down as being
paint-spattered but still usable,

snow covers the cars out front
lined up in all one direction, carpeted with
white, granted an ermine blanket,
sweetly docile with iced
windows and frozen locks, unlike
gas-guzzling road hogs, more like
obedient slaves,

it covers the park at the end of the street
with its wild trails over fallen tree trunks
deep in snow, growth stopped in its
tracks under repeated onslaughts of
angelic frosting, the
small mammals enduring, small
insects gathering their eggs for a
Spring resurgence or savage revenge,

the palace of pure nature wall to wall with
snow-crystals waiting for
princely footprints, for
small quick prints of the princess to
imprint themselves or for
long loopy chorus lines of angels to
suddenly cavort on fresh snow in the
little wood, pixieish

post-midnight bacchanals on

pure white floors, under full moonlight,
time frozen still,

space as beautiful as a
mouse ear in all this


3/8/96 (from Miracle Songs for the Millennium)


Categories: Poems

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