They float down,
Those Individual wisps.
Periods which end
No sentence.
Quotations,
Bereft of content.
I press my ear
Do the dormant grass
To hear the sound
Of their touchdown.
“Shhhh,” they said.
They float down,
Those Individual wisps.
Periods which end
No sentence.
Quotations,
Bereft of content.
I press my ear
Do the dormant grass
To hear the sound
Of their touchdown.
“Shhhh,” they said.
Symmetrical surprise touched down,
down on the green glow of labor.
A screening on a Friday night.
Sun down, feet down into treads,
gaits shortening along the driveways,
and shorter breathes and longer thoughts
of a weekend on the way.
Sinus pressure with the low.
An innumerable silence fell around me,
on me, and in me.
Thoughts melted as soon as they lit.
Not even a still small voice was heard.
When I saw momentary beauty
awaken me I said, “No, no, no, I am not done receiving!”
Intricate design set my spirit afire.
I prayed for another perfect landing.
Looking up I saw a quadrillion white descendents
of epiphany curling down gently pulled by gravity
to rest under footsteps of mortality.
All I needed was one snow imprint on my spirit.