Icing sugar is leaking from the sky,
Sifting through the trees and my snowshoes.
I step through the top deck, then
Crunch into the meringue underneath;
Harder snow dropped days ago,
Sorted, folded in by winds.
The only sound is my breathing and the fast
Racket of the granules hitting my shoulders -
Like tiny impatient angels tapping their fingers on a desk, demanding-
"So? You! Live, damn it!"
-Suzanne Crone
