Late snow

The snow outside has all but stopped arriving.

A few big flakes flow sideways back and forth,

some rising up instead of falling down

like mayflies mating, dancing, evanescent,

like cottonwood puffs that soon

will spring forth, taking the place of snow,

puffs like nests of dust mice

hidden long ago beneath our beds

on spare bare hardwood floors

we swept away with dust mops, on our knees.

Outside the birches bow to opaque clouds

that still obscure the evanescent sun,

like love that's there for you but not apparent.

(c) Copyright 2000. The Christian Science Publishing Society

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