Morning After Snow

The town lay crystalline
Beneath the sky's thin bell.
No new snow fell
To blur the maiden–line
Of first–fall. Lawns lay pure
Even of bird's foot–signature.
No air enough
To lift one snow–puff
Off the furred hedge. No bird
With the small pebble
Of its pan–pipe treble
Could make jangle
The long icicles of sound.
In the cold ground
Dahlias of snow,
And wands
Of coral, and frost fronds
Were set, but impotent to grow.
Growing is Time–made–visible.
Under that snow–eased sky, Time
Was itself made crystalline.