mourning snowfall

will it be every year
around This Time
that the grief floats down,
soft and insistent,

gripping every waiting surface
with unseen crystalline claws,

accumulating in fresh heaps
for all the world to see?

i fall down into its stinging embrace,
flail about,
and look for the imprint of an angel
to guide me onward.


for dad, 5/14/47 - 1/28/03