FIRST SNOW AS I SPLIT WOOD
Thin snow falling into
Valley fog, quiets everything,
No bird call, nothing flying —
The splitting wedge and hammer
Echo over the pasture
While the flakes open bigger
For no reason other than snow
And I straighten my sweaty back
And watch this world, lend a tongue
And taste it melt
_____________
© Bob Arnold
from Where Rivers Meet
Mad River Press 1990
