#4
first snow
The powdered breath of winter
stains the sidewalk’s dark cracks;
and black crows invade
the power lines, throaty croaks
about the weather, and where has the sun hid?
As clouds push down with heavy sighs,
their diamonds bury the brown earth.
The world is being transformed - slow -
into a perfect sculpture the sky
can keep on her mantle; one more trophy,
a crystal filigree - easily shattered,
easily lost.
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