I know there is snow

I know there is snow, at

the end of the

world; it 

sits, thick as 

night, bright white

and waiting -  

for that certain light

in which it could

be briefly warm - 

and waning, 

become water.

In this new form,

to worry on 

until the sea - 

then be at once 

assured

by the knowledge 

of spring; how it 

sings like

the snowflake

of the symmetry of

Things.