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Snow:
near the end we begin
to resemble it.
We have shaped snow,
have shaped it; our fingers
turn blue as snow
in early light.

Our hands turn white,
white at the knuckle
first, then white.
Soon,
I'll lay hands on you
and you will lay hands on me,
snow over snow.

We will learn near the end
a song of snow and
sing it like angels, sing,
flakes in the wind
that fall like flakes
in wind or love-stricken
angels, yes, we'll fall
like snow-white angels in snow.

© Derk Wynand
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© E-magazine LiterNet, 14.12.2005, № 12 (73)

Other publications:
Derk Wynand. Snowscapes. Sono Nis Press, 1974.