Post by AquarianM on Dec 7, 2007 19:56:26 GMT -7Snow Skies Whiting...
I look up and the sky is a close ghost,
Grey mist roof dome waiting,
Dreaming of fractal designs in crystal and soft white,
Hiding the soft underbelly of gliding hawks,
Which alight in the standing sticks like snow spirits,
Peering at an up-staring mad poet,
Who bothers so much to often notice.
The streets are push-dried and lined with plow-plunder,
Wet whispers wishing for more,
And I can’t get past the child-in-wonder in me,
Delighted despite the chores,
I fantasize snow down a co-worker’s neck,
Laughing clouds of jewel-smoke breath,
Surrendered completely to winter.
I was putting up and out Christmas just that morning and afternoon,
The perfect time to winkle and twinkle and blinkle,
Colors like candy-light over white,
Dancing boughs in the grey-blue steely wind,
The sun is a blinding white spot of haze just waiting to retire early,
I am cocooned soundless under snow skies whiting.
By: Daniel A. Stafford