The snow drops in dashed lines,
the flurries flurry in swirls,
coming from many points in the sky,
somewhere up there
is a transition,
a point in the moment
when moisture turns to crystals—
that combined with their neighbors
can cave in roofs,
can hold up happier skiers,
and carpet our lawns
with a blanket of pure innocence,
that point in space and time . . .
prior to the future and just after the past,
what would the frozen winter be without it?
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This poem is from "Bottle in the River"
about a Poet's journey down a river, chasing a bottle
tossed by the fingertips of "that I am."
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Written within the parameters of the theory of "Multivalence"
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