Soft, accumulating… persistent,
last night the snow began then pinked
quiet, you know… beautiful…the quiet of hard
layering, frosting the street, the car,
the walk to it a skid, then wind
that sends a leaf to sparkling crust, the thinner
branches shaking off their little flurries. Little
brown jobs starving feeders, feathers up, detective-
like in collars. On railing and the gutter ice is fringed,
and down the steps the shovel waiting. The gloves’ ambition
maybe…later, when all is envy in the sun…
sleep now, a nap…
something that will take me back
to stillness.