Snow Devils

By Peter Halstead

The solar wind that touches us, whirling on the land,
Draws heaven down to earth, God to Adam's hand,
A swirling skeleton of foam,
Sky linked astronomically to home,

Treetops buried in the drifted floes
Turned upside-down by condo’s
Glass like paint-by-number faces
Above the carpet’s questionable graces,

Photos by a blizzard wound
In incandescent flakes around
The reflections of the room,
The storm’s inverted negatives that bloom

Like origami in the windowpane,
The black and white tornado
Tumbling frozen on the frame,
Fallen angels made from snow.

Christmas 1984

Tippet Alley
May 8th, 2016