after the poetry reading

stepping outside the library
we were startled with a soft snow
falling in huge wet flakes

luckily the snow
did not stick to the roads
street sounds, subdued

the quieting mimicked peace:
stopped any anxiety the poet felt
before the reading

quieting heart, breath, thoughts
like thieves vanishing into
the spiraling snow

trees, homes, cars-- all etched
in whiteness, touched
with a clean clarity

like a perfect line
for a poem--
arriving in a dream


how we run to get it
all down before the line escapes--
into a tango tangle