On Sacred Bows

Crow and Snow

 

On sacred boughs snow delights
till frosted breath sweeps past
and whisks it from its perch
to fly like sandstorm to bless my face.
Then rests in drift and mound
And, thereupon, is swept aside
away from booted feet
to lie in wait a remissive thaw
under predestined sun.

 

 

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