It’s twenty to eight in the morning and the snow is actually settling. The poem that follows was in my collection ‘Out Walking’ (Anvil 1984) and is in my ‘Collected Poems’ due out in early May from Shearsman (see www.shearsman.com)
Snow in April
The flakes come so slowly
Out of the depths of the sky – the ones
Higher up, seeming to float
Parallel to the earth
Are a flickering screen out of which
These others descend
Framed by the platform roof,
An endless succession, suspended, all
Movement transformed into stillness. The tulips
Erect, then bending to the shower
The page worn threadbare with our comings and goings.
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