As
if the first storm had not been
An
anomaly, as if the snow’s depth
Had
not stopped the traffic’s flow,
As
ice can interrupt a river’s current,
The
second storm seems common-place,
A
photographer’s often-used backdrop,
Along
the road, in a parking lot,
A
cold scene,
A
cup’s hot water spilled
Freezes
before it falls,
As
breath is frozen before the eyes,
As
a glance is frozen by the
Rapid
shutter speed
Of
the eyes' lids,
There
is awareness, a sense,
Of
the other’s quickened step,
Of
the eyes’ sidelong focus,
Of the silent stand,
As
the clouds thin
And
the inch by inch accretion
Is
stopped, the retransformation
Complete,
as may
Any
eye’s sight repeated
Often
enough leaves no more than
A
whisper, fragile in the warmer air,
Dissolves
too in the windy gusts
Of
the early morning, scattered
The
hint of knowledge barely
Discernible
without the fingers’
Wide
spread across the knee,
The
profile paler in lean light,
Or
so one would think, as
Certain
as a snow’s fall and melt,
Would
not the mind’s play,
Set
in a common day’s scene,
Fade
each time it is repeated,
Or
could one brush stroke laid
Over
the last sharpen the hue,
Suggest
what is hidden,
Lead
the restorer
Deeper
for the repeated fall.
©
Christina Heuer, 2013
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