walk in the woods
awaiting four inches

Harvey S. Mozolak

the snow has collected
in small depressions
where the bark is pulled away
from a trunk
in a pock of a rock
at a deep center to a pile of leaves
gathered against the wind
on the lateral limb
refusing to follow the rising tune of the tree
in the cleft of roots at the base
a large flake
flies at the window of my mind
lashes shutter shut
and a tear refuses the cold
even the wonder of some intricate impression
for the snow gathers simply a pall