The snow, still falling, is blue in
the evening,
beautiful,
and yet it divides my heart.
Is
it the holy baptism of heavenly water,
pure
and uniform over gables and bare trees,
or
a pall covering a stage worn by actors
who
have played their parts for a million years?
Most
have retired, and the reviews proclaim
that
the playwright is a hack who knows no shame.
But
still, but still
I
believe that such muted tones
and
the sweep of a brush into monochrome
is
too beautiful, too silent, too still, still, still
to
be anything but what it is and nothing more.
Perhaps
a goddess has let down her hair for the night
and
is combing blue stars unused from the start
and
cooled by Olympian love and a generous heart.
But
no, I think that it is snow at twilight,
fractals
that have come to blanket the world
because
it is what they do this time of year
and
nothing more, nothing more.
~William Hammett
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