Snow

The animal part
of my brain wakes to helpless
vigilance, scanning the darkening
white gray horizon
etched with the crooked limbs
of pale gray oak trees.

Small flakes make a dotted
coating, then a covering
floats over sharp edges,
shortening distances, making a
soft, white oval of a small pond.

These brief deceptions seem
like the start of grief
as if past first tears, in
the heavy silence,
you feel the shape of change.