Winter

This year’s snow dunes melt
through March, retreating
army, aging impotence of
the arctic vortex, that pillow
of real winter, antithesis to
advancing temperatures.

Confusion.  Doubt, alternate
realities, the schmoozing of
all that might be ignored.

In a snow bank, yellow dog,
salt, sand, dark streaks of
time, the way snow was
shoveled from sidewalk,
the way rain froze like
iron.  Time.  Change and
what was normal
so many years ago.