saturday at lake geneva
i)
a muted sun
snow flakes fall---
     tiny burrs
     that cling to treebark and lanterns
                to each moment's passing---
awhirl in the air, and falling
ever falling---
     swift motes clouding
     colliding
     colluding and conspiring---Stay,
          they whisper, Stay


three days pass, the snows remain
     a testament of waters carving
     of deep scours and etchings

     of glacial ices scoring
     and slowly filling the world


ii)
the standing stones echo a thousand snowfalls,
stretch grasping fingers into the wind
     grounding snow from sky
     and drawing it down, ever downward
          into the earth and its tall hallows


iii)
    
the snows loom
weaving a world torn between sky and fire
                     between rock and water
and cloak the sun in winter's weft---
     light-filtered and stolen
the trees' needles
stitch our world worlds together,
     one flake's span at a time
and draw the mountains up, a cradle lake,
echoing to the soft hiss of water


iv)
the suns turn
the snows blow and the slow drifts
     of continents
     crawl toward our shore
the waters arrive
our lost festivals spurn the suns' flare
     without the rites
     tomorrow will never come---Stay,
     Stay

     locked
     in the ices of Lake Geneva,
                                 falling

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