Snow

What is this bleak-bright waiting-

This blinding white mantle of cold-

Sent down to us in our season of darkness?

What could this thunderous hush,

this frigid insulation,

mean for us?

-

What purpose?

What end do you serve,

You 100 billion crystal flowers,

You glitterer,

You glimmerer,

You reflector of meanest light?

What aim?

Why have you come,

Water,

disguised as rose-cut glass?

Why ornament this death?

Why water this fruitless landscape?

What brings you here in our time of great sleep?

-

Have you come to disturb us,

to water our stiff hearts?

Are you here to say:

"even this is a gift,

take it."

Even now, in this dead of winter,

God says,

"Delight."