snow parks simply

like birdsong lounging      drawn out and pricked and white      as if you could hold it cupped in a glass and wait for the glass to break in your hand.

the crystals are like shadows      and vary their form starkly      part full to part empty as if a matter of choice with the light.

their little business of melting throws sponges sifting heavily from the trees like the feeling of overstuffing your mouth with marshmallows.

for a spoon propelling sugar people often forget that many others die in the snow.

this one was always in the balance