Beginning the World

The crossing from sleep to waking

was easy those early winter mornings

when the snow fell dumb and bright as stars.

My mother packed me to the nose

in scarves; she tied a hat to my head

and sent me stumbling in boots through hills of snow.

The way was a desert of white,

dunes whirling in the streets where cars

lay buried, humped and sleeping like camels.

And I loved that whiteness,

the unyielding blankness of it all

that left me alone with the whole world unimagined.

Today, marooned by decades

and distance from those days and winters,

I close my eyes to begin the world again.