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Beginnings have their own success
like snowfall: the clarity that something
is finally moving. This time
it's you. Are you drawn
by a more promising field, or squeezed
until leaving is the only way
to stay whole? Maybe
you've cracked open,
growing too large for old forms,
growing even now
in the white heart of winter.
In any case, you stand shaking
in the momentous world.
A black-capped chickadee
navigates the crab-apples' tangle
to land and feed:
do you believe in birds only
when they are visible? The white snow
is a kind of emptiness
you fully understand.
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