snow squall by lisa pasold

after 'simple neighboring' by barbara beck

waking up like snow angels, the doubled-over,
hazel-eyed morning, curling, while

the back-up snowplow beeping, hits that stone
(every time, it would bleed if it could) in the driveway

walking to the window, pulling the white duvet
standing, the glass panes frosted, a bevel of ice

the front walk, and footprints i want to recognize.
i miss Sunday's carnival of bare limbs

watch some dog-owner tromping down the street,
the trick with being constant, like weather.