Monday, December 8, 2014

Snow Flurry

Snow Flurry

Not predicted,
each flake first
hit the air
like a cat's kiss:
singular, milky, 

Even when a few more
nosed their way down,
they slipped
instead of eddying,
too slow for grace,
too pointed for cold.

Not even half a minute.

The grass called their bluff
and didn't even 
spin to wet.

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