we woke up and there it was,
falling from open hands,
tissue scraps of light sailing to earth
against dark cliffs and a dark sky,
a rain of snow.
I could have danced into the waking dream of it,
or laid my head on the fresh, white pillows,
but it was so, so cold.
Eighteen hours later,
safe in bed at home,
I watched my retina replay those white and silver stars
drifting down through blackness,
etching their way into memory.
John Roff
