A man in a field walks through a storm.
Snowflakes on his eyelashes blur his vision.
A man in a study believes in snow,
believes in the truth of snow.

A man leaves traces as he walks.
His tracks ornament the field’s blank.
He meanders, doubles back, evading,
leaves imprints that the snow erases.
A man walks. The snow falls.  

In a study, a man devotes himself to snow.
He reads from the book of snow.
He composes wintry axioms.
“Snow:  Atmospheric water vapor frozen into ice crystals
that drop on a walking man’s eyelashes
or lie blank in an unwritten field.

“Snow is a conflict,
a confusion, a yearning.
Letters are desire.
Margins are melancholy.”

The storm disappears.
A man squints at blurred words,
Resumes writing,
Shaking snow from the page.

Gentle, soft
       like a kiss
            a mist
                  from heaven
Rain......................................

Cj 2016

“Up above my head
I hear music in the air
I really do believe
I really do believe
there's a Heaven somewhere”
--Rhiannon Giddens

“Is that all there is?”
--Peggy Lee*

An old philosopher told me this:

“About heaven.
Let’s say there’s more than one.
There’s the one where souls
are lurid with perfection,
piled into bliss,
dreaming of change.

“There’s the one people search for
to fit the story they tell themselves.
I looked for it.  I watched the sky.
I found only words.  Blue sky is
a blank page.  Clouds are garish metaphors.

“Then there’s one that follows you.
Don’t look for it. You can’t find it.
It’s not a place or a path.
It dances at the edge of things
like old photos or a young face
that lives remembered in its older one,
an eternal moment always at hand
trailing like a thought balloon,
a shadow cast by nothing,
forever unfolding, never now.”

Raindrops explode on the impacted soil;
Dryer, so much dryer, so much harder than I thought.
One drop here and there and scars appear on the floury surface.
No wind today and the arrows find their mark
Again
And again
Until a surface pooling forms:
But nothing more.

Relentless ramrod shafts pound the ground
And its substance shifts and softens to absorb the blows
And take what nourishment it can.
Hardened against extremes it struggles
To release the tension of the grains that cling
To one another.
The rain ceases. It leaves and
In private
The earth allows some of the moisture to soak through.
Like a hard heart softening at the sight of compassionate tears -
Like the gruff response that guards an open heart.