The snow hissed heavy on the frozen ground for hours.
Its sizzle on my shoulders made me wonder about heat and cool
And the whispers I heard and which was whispering.
The flurries stopped at four,
When the deck was covered completely.
But in the yard, an inch of grass poked
above the smattering of white.
I felt, in their blades, they must have known my questions.
All warm complexity at the roots
And exposed spring-like stalks of green
Their still, vulnerable places.
Betrayed by the ground between them
That gave so easily over to winter.
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