Sharp peaks jab the sky
dark pines wear thick coats of snow
blue skies over all
Sierra Nevadas
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Sharp peaks jab the sky
dark pines wear thick coats of snow
blue skies over all
We both had bad dreams
but she’s okay, Portland-bound,
scratching poison oak.
Like skin, snow sags droops
puckers. Tears slide across a
hard crusty surface.
So light, delicate.
But under its weight trees crack.
Roofs collapse. Hearts fail.
The heavens open,
the earth a new firmament
dusted by cold stars.
Thirty miles away
there’s sunshine. But in the Snow
Belt, it’s two feet deep.
Outside the wind chimes
plead, usually placid
notes wrenching, piercing.
Sodden ground swampy
a mash of leaves, plants, flowers
once distinct, now soup.
Summer is golden
butterscotch, January
skim milk, thin weak pale.
Forgotten summer
umbrella aged by winter’s
wig of heavy snow.