When it falls I go
out under the evening stars and begin
this lifting, this silent reach and turn

of my arms against the weight;
into the night the patterns flow
as my body flows, pale light of stars

above, and the silence, only the silence
to cradle the push and shove.

There are no words for this snow
that falls as I lift and turn, no one to see,
no one to hear, only the light on street

and sill, only the muffled whisper of song
long buried, this endless turning –
all that I know lies in snow.

Snowlight Photo by Michael Joyce

Photo by Michael Joyce