Earth and sky have coupled in the night,
the clouds have laid their body
down on the ground,
rounding, mounding everything,
disguised in white. Changed.
Every twig and branch is a word
in an unknown tongue, underlined in black,
bearing the weight of glory’s flesh.
Little saplings, snow-bent, bow in patient modesty.
The sun is absent,not moving.
Everything is still, silenced,
still contemplating what has happened.
Then a cloud moves.
Sun spills its golden confidence
into the blue woods,
a temple of surprises.
It is not too late to become a new person.
December 16, 2019