New Snow
I know the different names for snow:
dense, compact, sherbet burned into the mind
on gray days when nothing moves,
when even a finger feels a twinge of cold.
I want to leave this frozen world,
watch the mercury reach higher temperatures,
and not remain a rigid pane in frigid atmosphere.
I want to leave behind false promises,
the dull days of torpid vigor
when every limb feels enervated.
I want to crawl into a wigwam,
feed the fire, watch it grow,
become a coal of glowing embers.
Today I saw a picture of Mercury,
our smallest celestial neighbor,
its egg-yolk shining in the sun.
Oh to inhabit the sunlit top,
the only once illumined pole.
For there, in the melting ice,
a patch of life begins to grow.