The Morning After the Ice Storm On the Day After the Snow Storm

My children walk on the foot-high snow leaving no prints
I remember doing that the feeling of not falling through

of being lighter than snow I remember the days I was sure
I would never leave any prints that I could walk

on the surface of the world and leave no trace
then are the days where you feel you are nothing but prints

Nothing but traces and paths and trails and then the days
you wake up to another death and your son

is reading how it took two hundred million years
for trees to develop leaves and

then you are back to leaving no prints

4 thoughts on “

  1. Ron

    The way I feel before reading one of your new poems is just the way I felt on Christmas morning when I was a boy about to unwrap packages Santa had left. Oh, the mystery and magic! Superb, Jeff! 🙂

    Ron

    Reply

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