The solar wind that touches us, whirling on the land,

Draws heaven down to earth, God to Adam's hand,

A swirling skeleton of foam,

Sky linked astronomically to home,


Tree tops buried in the drifted floes

Turned upside-down by condo’s

Glass like paint-by-number faces 

Above the carpet’s questionable graces, 


Photos by a blizzard wound

In incandescent flakes around

The reflections of the room,

The storm’s inverted negatives that bloom 


Like orgami in the windowpane,

The black and white tornado

Tumbling frozen on the frame,

Fallen angels made from snow.