Snowstorm in Lowertown

Snow winds through the air
in courses of its own making,
curls like smoke through the eaves,
and cascades all around us
like a lover’s long hair.
Everywhere, it lands in chaos,

but through the long hours
it creates a dreaming new form,
reshaping light from shadows,
rendering parked cars prehistoric,
sculpting new life into mounds of debris,
where the landlord’s shovel had been,
and sweeping clean a fresh clear beach
between here and the corner store.

Where once we knew stairs,
we find large white seashells,
curled at our feet,
soft, glistening crisp,
shattered now by our footprints,
but upon our return restored
and polished once again.