I can’t walk far or drive away.
I’m here, deep in snow.
Still, I can follow the heart
better than on a sunny day.
Snow, rain, and stars have a language
I’ve heard them speak, beyond understanding,
a language they’ve written on earth from the start,
older than Chinese, Hebrew, or Greek,
indifferent to human weather
or where we gather.
I’m snowbound, not sure if snow is prose—
ice, poetry—
or the other way around.
The winds live timelessly,
the weather comes and goes.
I adore a snow goddess
in her white drifting dress.
