The Start

snow

it falls so easily, each flake
so many and each so individual
everything it covers becomes beautiful
if you live with winter you cannot wait
to share it with someone who has never seen snow
it is impossible to describe
the fear, the beauty, the truth
laid as bare as you can believe
it is not white — it is blank
purity is cold — but snow is warm
you can live in a house of snow
the dull shine of street lamp, car light
dim filtered sunlight, is caught, webbed
rainbow in each flake, you can hold out
your hand and catch them, frozen rainbows —
stick out your tongue and taste them
roll them up into snow men that will burn
with the light of a million suns through the night
winter winds may blow but they cannot affect us
life is snow and repetition only perfects us

this drum is all I know

this drum is all I know
this drum I beat
empty alone in the shadow
I beat, I beat

this drum is all I have
I beat it though I am torn
repeat it, desert it
I was this drum when I was born

this drum cannot explain it
this drum cannot be known
this drum is only explaining
something I already know

this ice beats me
the north wind continues to blow
each snowflake tries to complete me
like someone from long ago

I repeat me
I just have to know
am I ice, am I weightless
or snow
constantly blown

If The Chain Of Snow Breaks They Invoke God
(in honour of Hans Arp)

if the chain of snow breaks
the seas would slide away
fish would fly
boats would starve
refugee icicles beg scraps from
broken rings of crystal stunned by vacuum
nighthawks survive by eating
the rags they claim to be the night
of the incredible snowstorm
the blind did not notice
inexorable demands would drag everyone down
gravity would create magnetic forces
melding everyone into magma
the landscape would slither
like a tablecloth floating on the water
a rock thrown into the middle
and the fabric slides into the black
crater like a legendary sea monster
shakes its flukes and
disappears
forever