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Sunday, January 22, 2012

Fresh Powder

(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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