Shoveling Snow

In the cold and dark with the wind
pouring out from behind the house
the snow falls, falls and I
bend, rasp my shovel on the sidewalk
under the white blanket like a final
breath and the snow covers over the hidden world
soft, beautiful, and cold
a marble for the gusting pyg-
malion air. the gentle earth is sorry that I
give my warmth up to the sky
throwing this load like salt
over my shoulder for the voice of the wind
to scatter like particles of common grace
upon the silent sleeping world.
how the eternal lightness of the firmament
tugs now at my ragged gasps.