Snow

No passage holds your faithful word,
unspoken word, your constant word,
no portal for your comeliness
dissolving forms.

You lie in fields and trimmed in wood,
dress the boughs of evergreen
glistening, clothe the day at noon,
shape blue moonlight crystal nights.

Your formless waltz and gypsy dance,
your noble fall and gathered pomp
demure, exalted at our door
more silent than a whispered prayer.

Sleeping crocus, unlit worlds
are named among your supplicants,
unspoken word, your constant word
dissolves with your habiliments.