Masked Native

A snowflake wends its way to earth,
dissolving on your hand.

Two or three and more leave
snow pearls in your hair.

You lift your face to the sky,
receive snow kisses on your skin,

hold your breath
as the magic gathers

and in the drifting white
the world is transfigured.

In an awesome quiet
you listen to the morning,

and birdsong,
that echoes deep into your heart.

For Heather Dawn Kemp