Blizzard

the snow

has forgotten

how to stop

it falls

stuttering

at the glass

a silk windsock

of snow

blowing

under the porch light

tangling trees

which bend

like old women

snarled

in their own

knitting 

snow drifts

up to the step

over the doorsill

a pointillist’s blur

the wedding

of form and motion

shaping itself

to the wish of

any object it touches

chairs become

laps of snow

the moon could be

breaking apart

and falling

over the eaves

over the roof

a white bear

shaking its paw

at the window

splitting the hive

of winter

snow stinging

the air 

I pull a comforter

of snow

up to my chin

and tumble

to sleep

as the whole

alphabet

of silence

falls out of the

sky