EDITH LEVINE

1.

Snow all day,
And the snow is trackless.
The animals come at night,
Wearing small shoes.

I like the way snowflakes fall,
All together,
All in the same direction,
Landing softly, as if to say
This is what we intended.

They fall one at a time,
But on the ground
Are one thing only,
So alike are they,
So well do they fit together.

Into the dark lake
White snow is falling.
An instant to see themselves,
Then nothing.
A lake
Shaped like a ladies' mirror.

2.

If she were lost,
Someone would say so.
Such things are reported.
Her words falling like snow
Into black water,
Not the same speech as snow,
That speaks the same word, over and over,
But hers, somehow jumbled.

The day darkens.
Bare boughs sleeve themselves in snow.
They startle.
Here and there, a limb snaps.
One russet leaf
Clings to its twig.
There is nothing brighter.

They say
Inside the brain
Is a tree of veins.

Inside her mind, it is winter.
Inside her mind, snow is falling.

She is putting on her stockings.
She is putting on her shoes.
But really,
She has fallen asleep in the snow.
She knows it.
She wonders how long
It will take us to find her.

Outside the window,
Rose thorns are sharp in the light.
On the ground,
Everything yields up its form.
Now she is only
An imperceptible swell
In the waves of the meadow.

The dark comes quickly.
It is still snowing.
There is no moonlight or starlight.
How will they find me?

The snow says,
Nothing lasts forever,
Not even winter,
Not even us, and we are so many.

The wood stove consumes its logs
One after another.
Now they burn so fast
The fire is roaring.
It swallows the air in the room,
Panting,
Like a hunting dog
Who has, at last,
Brought down his kill.

She asks,
Will I have a tombstone?
I say, Yes, you will.
And I show her my hands.
She says, It's not enough.
I show her my face.
She reaches for it
As if she is taking it.
She is taking it.
Now she is peaceful.