Voilà: a brand new 10×10 syllabic poem. ♥ EAB
The Snow Storm
Despite all sophistication, it comes
to replace the pattered brilliance of night
with the uniformity of a cloud,
and it settles on expressing itself
as clean, discrete crystals that seek the still,
quiet surfaces outside my window.
All the world’s branches, as intimate as
a widow’s fingers on the graveyard fence,
crack against the glass, their messages tapped
in secret rhythms: “It’s winter. At last.”
