As Centuries Gather Light

the wind fills up the pictures made of snow,
the silver brushed air
and everywhere it falls it lifts

the shadows from the avenues
from the roofs of sleeping houses
from the hydrants

and the moonlit overpass
it feels like sugar sifting through
the tall grasses

sugar without the sweetness or stickiness,
it does not cling;
and it falls over the lanes carelessly

without neatness
or compunction

till all is numb and no longer singing.
only the wind sings
only the wind speaks

and the snow is deep
as centuries, gathering light.

mary angela douglas 23 march 2019