coldStaring out at the snow as the blizzard whirls white,
the silver-haired man hears her laughter lift and soar –
he had seen her do her dance before,
sometimes high in mountain passes,
sometimes just outside his shelter’s door,
the Snow Woman who comes with storm-filled night.
He closes the shutter and watches the fire burn bright
against her cold wind touched with dreams
of easy death and loss and want and schemes –
She has beauty, but her eyes have frosted lashes
and the darkness in them always teems
with cold envy of other’s warmth and light.
He adds more wood to the fire to make it light
and watches his sleeping child and dark-haired wife
wrapped in warm quilts against the knife
of winter’s chill as the snow and cold wind thrashes –
the Snow Woman may want a life,
but these are safe with him this bitter night.
