Surety of Snow
We had snow
In the land of my youth.
The sky would turn a yellow-grey
And parched forest would hold its breath
In palpable anticipation.
Did the ragged flakes leisurely trace a plumbline to ground
Or did our house simply drift
Was hard to know
From where we burrowed,
Shared warmth under a comfort of down,
While a man on a park bench preached to his
We trusted the promise that there would be no lack of water