Solution

The mountain holds its breath, completely still.
Aspens stand up straight, calm and waiting,
Summer brush now frozen winterkill.
Fog enshrouds the drumlins, moving in.

Things could happen in this dense tableau,
The sky shut down, day dissolving into metal,
Clouds in clusters lying low,
Higher worlds come to settle

Our conflicting scenes – the air, before, just air,
Dispersing from its vast suspension,
Coalescing on a single flake, the atmosphere
That holds our meadow in solution,

Spindling softly into walls of snow,
Flakes replacing flakes in the kindling
Of their compound flow,
As the seamless dwindling

Of the trees, sieves through which are blown
The colloids of the flocking storm,
Filter every atom on their own,
To solve the pattern of the planet’s form.

December 21st, 2011