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(c) 2012 by Tom King
A Texas boy, I’ve never seen
Fresh powder, soft, nearly dry
It kicks up on my boot toes
As I pass
shuffle-footed alongside the dog
Two pair of footprints and a row of
holes
Where my cane
punctures the pristine sheet of snow.
It’s night now – me and the dog
Lookin’ for a place to
pee.
She’s never seen snow like this
before
And rambles
herky-jerky ranging back and forth
Sticking her nose under bushes,
into little drifts
Snorting when she gets
a noseful, shaking her head.
The path and snow-packed road wend
away
Toward a lamppost at a
corner someway off
Tempting us along like children
Sneaking down the
aisle of an empty church
To steal a peek at things upon the
altar
The snow, like linen
drapes lying softly over the pews.
Fresh powder softly laid lends a
holy stillness
Over the cold, dark
world tonight.
Reflects the moonlight scattering
little stars
Like jewels along the
way ahead.
Breathless, still, yet almost a
kind of music
An aerie song of
distantly remembered home.
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