After the Storm

By the stove

as usual, trying to see

what cannot be seen

through such whiteness.

 

Snow fields,

broken at the perimeter

by coyote and deer spoor,

lie below, and below them

the earthen wells of

corms and bulbs.

We are lucky to have their

April, their May, ahead of us.

 

The more we listen

at the drifts,

the quieter the world grows.

 

The gloves and shawls

we will put on in layers

when it is time

to gather more wood

will keep us warm

until the hoop is full,

until reentry to this radiant ordinariness

of home.