Old Snow
March 5 2013


2 weeks
and the burden of snow
has settled.
A winter desert,
badly in need 
of a fresh white cover.

Old snow
makes me feel depressed,
as if it's over-stayed its welcome.
Too cold to melt,
too warm
to feel like winter.

Parched wind, and cycling sun
have left a hardened crust,
strong enough 
to walk upon
with wide deliberate steps.
Its surface is dull, and brittle
scattered with debris,
as tired and effete
as the ancien régime,
ripe for collapse.
And in the distance
I hear insurgent whispers
gaining strength.

So we wait
for the next big blizzard
to overthrow the world,
over everything, equally;
a utopian dream
of the level field.
Slowly raise 
its modest flag
of white-on-white,
proclaim
the soft democracy 
of snow.