Sunday, November 14, 2010


Well, but we don't even know
when the sky began to snow
when the soft yet utter
white began to flutter,
when the trembling girlish flakes
began to kiss the cedar shakes.

We don't know when the sphere of white
coalesced around the light,
when it began to spark and swirl
and dramatize the breeze's curl;
we only know the street is gone
and looks no different from the lawn.

And then again we don't know when
an impulse firmed into a yen,
or how intention to inquire
precipitated such desire;
what gave these clouds the final shove,
and set loose such a fall of love.

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