saturday night
son's gone to bed
wife's in the bath
snow falling fast
more ice flecks than petals

i inhabit my office
pencil, article
but before i can read
i find myself sorting
stacks of words and figures
clouds of human thoughts

i cascade them and cluster
trace patterns and keywords
driven but daunted
to master these artifacts
is the task of a lifetime

sunday i shovel
snow from the nightfall
then sit down again
with pencil in hand
make notes on thoughts
from another mind entirely

four-cubed pages
and three hours hence
i'm two-thirds dug in
when the time has arrived
to move snow again

graphite underlines
trace thoughts of great minds
shovel strokes
frame our home

three-shovel weekend
four wheels can't make it
to the base of the mountain
to witness enchantment

four wheels can't plow
to my grandfather's house
where five hours of snow
consume my whole boot

wet as the spring
white as the dawn
i aspire to trek
to shovel the walk

that rare day of bounty
when legs are more mobile
than a new-fangled car
i'm there in an hour
shoveling done
in a third as much time
muffins inside
we laugh at the thick of it
deck snow's been lifted
so the boards don't cave in
i'm on my way
the work of a day

lamp light at night
i read the last third
water the seeds
patient through spring
lush ground beneath
these piles of white