Mud, which skews and traps
both shoes and tires, in which
the spring is drowned and lost,
where our world is mired
at such a cost of time
and soul, is by snow defined
and framed, hung and tolled,
frozen and made whole
by the whistling swirl of ice,
the numbing glint of cold,
the knell of some inherent
skeleton, of some primeval
shell which winter builds
against the snarl of mess,
disorder, and upheaval—
against the world’s distress.
June 10th, 2019