So Much White Motion

First snow of winter;
Teeming flakes slant through the sky;
My lawn is frosted.









So much white motion
And yet there is not a sound
Save my slogging feet.

Above the swift stream
A white log is suspended.
Below: dark water.











Only the beach trees
White, pale, long and slender
Maintain their color.

Calling through the snow,
Crows, streaking across the sky,
Proclaim their blackness.












Fir trees cast shadows,
Not of sun, but no snow.
I taste the cool flakes.

The abandoned porch:
Chair without legs and crutches.
Absence is proclaimed.

I pity the plane
Roaring above the snow fall
Soaring someplace else.