Snow Plows at Dawn by Randy Evans
Tree trunks whiskered with wind-whipped snow shiver
half-frozen or half-thawed from the Spring storm,
caught like fish through the ice, the branches quiver
with surprise, awakened as they were in such altered form.
Between dusk and dawn fifteen inches of new snow fell,
fell on our talk of golf and gardens and Spring garb,
clearing the air of new desire, re-freezing what we tell
others we know of life, the old cliche, familiar barb.
Thrown back on ourselves, we delay the mindless ascent
into the season of forgetting. The roller coaster stops
at the summit before the arm-raising, screaming descent,
and we once more seek out our true selves as God eavesdrops.
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