Snow Portrait No. 11

Glance out the window and suddenly
we’re inside a snow-dome;
big fat ones cart wheeling down
with a thud on glass; zoomers
crossing the pane on a mission
to who knows where -
this is like existing in our own
biosphere, all of us angling
furiously towards the future…because
if we slow down, what will happen?
Will we get scared of the mirror’s life,
of the life of our dishes?

…and you’re walking
down Van Morrison’s Mystic Avenue again,
hips swaying, in a silk dressing gown,
getting religion and the angels
while the soapsuds spill
and the steam rises twisting
its arms like some genie belly dancer
and the day ends as dreams
stack up like planes for take off now

when this is the pause after griefs,
after snowfalls where we can
even come together to agree
on a future while sitting
on the edge of the bath watching
our lives flurries comingling.