Late snow
The snow outside has all but stopped arriving.
A few big flakes flow sideways back and forth,
some rising up instead of falling down
like mayflies mating, dancing, evanescent,
like cottonwood puffs that soon
will spring forth, taking the place of snow,
puffs like nests of dust mice
hidden long ago beneath our beds
on spare bare hardwood floors
we swept away with dust mops, on our knees.
Outside the birches bow to opaque clouds
that still obscure the evanescent sun,
like love that's there for you but not apparent.
(c) Copyright 2000. The Christian Science Publishing Society
