Ice Rains

Why I am thinking of my father on the topic of white snows perhaps because he seemed almost Hispanic in his youth, tanned, dark hair and eyes but whiteness shone the day he came home early worry caught my breath in chest and only in the morning did the firemen come, taking him away. Such heart spasms, clench us all, yet snow falls so softly, unexpected and ice rains even less noticed they drip, drip, coating the roads and only when we step too fast skews our vehicle, ends us in ditch new babies without parents, stitches in our heads. The drips spire down the icicles, coat the roses as buds, never to open, and yet, sometimes, I wish to be inside tasting the ice cold water like fire turning blue to the ends of my limbs in sleepiness, and setting ablaze my very soul, like a light, shine out as call here, with me, all the memories a blanket of witness to eternity dripping into us experience’s minerals. Who could do magic with a wand headed with all of life’s power to hold? Who could accept magic in waves like the falling of snow, or wonder that we escaped from death, that we saw roses, saw the spirals climb down from the sky as raindrops and drip, drip, into our thoughts all that began as white and ended.