A crow cawls across the ridge.
Snow tips from ten thousand limbs.
Some falls up, the way
ash ascends a flue.
Like smoke, the blackbirds billow,dip and curl into white sky.She remembers whatwill soon be water.
The Children and I in WinterWe've got snow up to our ears.Oswego New York is cold,six ear lobes are blue,the wind finds us all.
ice is the biggest threat, andfleet feet find it treacherous;no matter how fast, slipand flat on the back.
Warm Crept OverWe are the bent bones breaking,old trees fumbling under snow.Light peels forward like new skin. The ice melts.