Graupel on the window panes -

Before as pure as summer glass -

Now etched with diamond lanes

Through which flooded futures pass,


Skies pasted in from former snows,

Where the frozen hands of time

Cut across our watchlike windows

With interstices of rime,


As if the lattices of frost

Were crystal paths down which

The weather is embossed,

Whose crystal needles stitch


The world together in their mazes,

From where we oversee

The softness of its distant faces

Cast in winter’s hard geometry.


San Francisco

October 5th and 6th, 2013


May Day 2016