STORM

The white of snowfall muffles

All, although it hides 

A thread inside, a key

To a labyrinth that guides

Lost travelers back home,

The way a blank page shuffles

Everything unsaid

Into versions of infinity,

A hidden dome, an offing

Where revolves and grows, 

Like waves at night, the aura,

The overtone of things unseen, 

Shapes of the unknown,

That surround a hand, a string

Quartet, the aurora

Borealis,  - filigrees

Made obvious by night,

The universe’s bright debris

Hanging in the sky, a stalactite

Traced by energy,

Like iron filings by a magnet.

Mystery at the heart of things,

Mystery is the way

Underlying worlds set

Their deeper orbits into play,

The invisible but also huge

Trellises that spawn

A storm’s impelling centrifuge

Where drifting lives are drawn

Into nature’s whirling sieve,

The page’s human white where

Only cosmic dreams canlive.