Yesterday’s snow fell sharp and fast
Like the snapped off tips
Of a thousand hypodermic needles
Hurtling earthward in a rush to land.
It made the sound of sand
Sifting through an hourglass,
Each grain a piercing wound
Passing through the narrowest waist.
Ice lashed my numbed face
Like a blast of birdshot
From close range welting
Flesh already blotched and frozen.
Today, it slowly wafts down in
Beautifully complex flakes,
Flitting in slow leisurely waltzes
Toward a landing certain to be soft.