The Snow, in the end
fell from a Hand.
And we were satisfied
like kids again, by it’s sheer wonder.
We looked up
and manna like honey
filled our open mouths.
Each flake, like words we
could never speak.
Like baby birds wait, meekly
for worms at night…
trusting their parents in dark’s rustle
to feed them until they too
can fly, gliding gracefully into the glistening wonder of snow.