snowflakes

Frost forms near to us -

on a blade of grass, a window pane.

Shocks of frozen feathers secure,

bound to the fixed planes

of our mornings and nights,

anchored by the promise

of metamorphosing molecules.

The housechores of a warm cottage

shrouded in thick thatches of dawn-glint

softly bake away bonds, sliding now -

sliding, sliding, breaking -

two shattered vintage cordials,

a new year’s toast transformed

to sharp and shining rubble,

mined from the walls of a cave

by the beak of a bluebird.

No, we took shape in the sky -

a faraway star birthed in darkness,

an old filament quietly sparking to light

from the center of a ceramic Christmas bulb

in the attic of your father’s house.

We branched like oaks,

six spokes, a child’s bicycle

six petals, your favorite blossom,

six needles, a broken compass.

We formed in rippled heavens,

In upper atmospheres,

In plane highways and drunken moonlight,

In the pews of some astral church

where the winds sing

from the pages of hymnals

so timeworn they’re sheets of water,

Where satellites orbit

like a wet finger on a wine glass,

so loud, so crystalline - can you hear it?

Can you hear what I mean?

My voice is a bell -

struck with the force of the meteors

that shower above us,

sprawling in arcs

like boughs of willow,

like Washington square parks,

like burning red sandstone,

like fireworks in summer.

We formed in layers of clouds,

stitched like rows of knit baby blankets,

tiered like the sugary fondant of wedding cakes.

Like the long-johns and sweaters and coats

and mittens and scarves and hats

your mother dressed you in,

like the rough skin of your hands

that holds the pitched ink naming our love.

Like the rings of your favorite climbing tree,

like your grandmother’s lasagna,

like the heart of the earth,

like roses,

like ocean,

like cardiac muscle -

like everything striated

with the depth of the living.

Four and a half billion years ago,

eight years ago, this morning,

a celestial lineage born of a single moment:

our cells kiss snowflakes from thin air,

then we move through each ribbon of open sky

floating, sinking, spinning, waltzing -

falling.