head of steam

a scoop on a stick,
gloved hands, thick coat
and a great head of steam

but I am no railway,
simply the un-stoker
of snow on a deck

winter stream

there is a stream
flushing the hillside

the salt, the grey-brown
vomit of winter spurned
by traffic
and municipal sand

it hides
beneath the arched cap,
a vaulted snow

secret

for a while

Freeze!

hours spent in the crawl space
chasing thickened water
through black plastic pipes
with a hair dryer

nothing quite like
the run of clear liquid
unfrozen

but what
do watching spiders think?

far sounds

a thing of plastic
filled with magnets
and radio,
electronics

and my Mum's voice

miracles all

I saw ...

grass greened in hope,
bunched beneath the wait
of winter

skin

chill
in the air
but the crystals
are beneath
the layers,
hidden

you will
unwrap them
inside, afterwards,
melting the prickle
points of tingles
back to
skin

destiny

they are jumbled,
this stack -
oak, basswood,
beech, pine,
the white-blonde curls
of the birch

thawing over a vent
grateful
for the warmth

oh,
if only
they knew ...