In the Story Concerning the Ice Storm
In the story concerning the ice storm
the trees are dripping crystal,
and the wind snaps their branches
like glass. There are ink-black birds
pecking pinholes in the puddles,
and an early, purple crocus
huddles frozen in its blossom.
The evening sun sets its pink on the yard
while a swollen, brown-mouthed river
bites its tongue and waits to rise.