04-01-2017, 02:39 AM
After the Interview
Snow is pure and indomitable.
For an hour it melts
the instant it touches the grass.
The fair flakes, individual
motes of a multitudinous wave,
stick first to the needles of pines.
Brown rocks, warm after
a warm week, resist the urge
to return to winter's sleep.
But the pure snow falls and falls.
The ground turns the color
of a dusty glass.
The road's noise of oceans
and the birds' chorus of bells
diminish, both, to the muffled
sound of nothing.
I pour some cold
water from the tap
then sit awhile by the window,
watching the vanishing world.
Snow is pure and indomitable.
For an hour it melts
the instant it touches the grass.
The fair flakes, individual
motes of a multitudinous wave,
stick first to the needles of pines.
Brown rocks, warm after
a warm week, resist the urge
to return to winter's sleep.
But the pure snow falls and falls.
The ground turns the color
of a dusty glass.
The road's noise of oceans
and the birds' chorus of bells
diminish, both, to the muffled
sound of nothing.
I pour some cold
water from the tap
then sit awhile by the window,
watching the vanishing world.