A barbed wind rested on white,

Turning surface to patterns,

To lanes, to lines, to reaches of dark.

A gathering like dew erupted, flexible

As the ghosts of winter,

Reminiscent of a white southern sea

Hurrying to wrap its froth around me.

Among the bare and massive trees

Snow swirled and touched my breath.

I lifted my face to the frozen wind

And wept.