The snow fell like ashes
from the ghost of a Pharaoh
Into a flattened field of urns
lined up beneath a sheet
An alabaster garden
in the act
of growing nothing
This bedding the hollow
of seeds which expand
into dreams
The salt flats of memory
the whispers of the wind
The miracle of telling
it all to a friend
Outside the frosted window
where pain and pleasure
flourish every day
In equilibrium upon
the streaming rays
of the ever passing Sun
Whose power did not
diminish even while it hid
away in the distance
Instead with a twist
of its lashes thunderstruck
Could open the eye
of the hurricane blizzard
To stare right at you
like the mirror of a king
Standing in the kitchen
with a cup steaming upward
into the arriving light
