Poem Twenty Seven: Snow

*

We are whirls 

in bark and wood. 

An amulet of snow

heavy with moon.

Has the die 

been cast?  

The serpent turns

with her tail 

in her mouth.

The hero turns

and refrains.

Branches bend 

under the weight.

Inhale.

The earth is a desolate 

wilderness. 

The earth is desolate,

dear wilderness,

without you

I am snow.

*