Exposure
Feb 17 2014

At the darkest time of year

the light can be unbearable.

Low winter sun
sits barely above
the near horizon,
tearing up, and blinding me.

Old snow, turned to ice

scattering light

from countless tiny facets.

And the freshly fallen stuff, air-puffed

absorbing nothing,

perfect crystals

that instantly branch, and grow

in flash-freeze cold.

The opposite

of summer's torpid calm,

when I look into water

and see myself;

coherent beams
reflecting precisely
according to incidence, angle, optics.

While snow is chaotic,
inscrutably white
instead of water's silvered glass.

My reflection, vanished,

as insubstantial                  

as a sudden thaw.

In winter's vast indifference

we are all invisible.

Like a key

dropped in its soundless depths
and gone;
nothing heard, nothing left
to follow.

The setting sun
a fumbled key.
Death, by freezing.