Six Days of Snow
Push aside the screen door and see
strata upon strata of snow.
Notice the elemental shifts in light,
a palette of backlit whites
lined with blue-gray
where each snowfall stopped
and the next started,
a dutiful record of its own making.
It is the laying on of snow upon sleep,
upon bulbs put there by hands,
upon tunnels through soil
and the breathing fur within them.
Snow laying itself down upon sleeping you,
a sleep not solved by light.
You through whom light fell
onto me. That was how
it happened once.
Light fell through you,
and I came awake.