She laces this dark late winter’s evening
with white manna grace,
flowing flying frosting
folding in and over and around
dark naked tree limbs
dressing up and out
under icey liminal networks
of down and in-flowing rivers,
emptying out onto cold cover
of water’s frozen lace-flaked sea,
hovering over what had been our pedestrian front lawn,
now transformed and mesmerized
with diastatic ice crystals
twinkling in response
to their ice-fire children
following in their post solstice pilgrim path
to die their individuality
within this here-now view.
I smile, perhaps flirtatiously,
with this shy winter’s virgin dream,
a stubborn storm of snow softly settling
quieter than white-noise still quietly,
so so civilly, right,
a silent black and white moving set
framing a wonderful life.
She does not smile back
but I feel her cold embrace
teasing tickling of too-perfect beauty,
hope imagining she could sleep within this heavenly blanket
dreaming down her winter’s rain
of deep composting thirst,
drinking through walls of hibernation
dreaming of spring’s warmest winding offer.
This could go on all night
this reverse stalking
and inside window peeping out
across front and back porches
at Gaia’s grace elational transfiguration,
silent sacred ecodrama major
showing off her magic show
for those with ears to see through silent
first snow of momentous perennial occasion
falling just in time
to brighten renewal day for dreams
of Beloved DiaFramed black with white Communities
through this silent storm of love.
Impossible to ever be the same again.
Unlikely to become unlover.
Such elegant purgation grace!
I would dishonor her
to not sleep within our silent storming space.