A MOMENT FACING THE SNOW FALL AYENDY BONIFACIO POETRY It was dust that lifted the day White sun, lit bits, sun filtered Diamond pricks like a wave-like Cloud twice my size embracing Me; and inside, the pale street, cooled For the tenderness of powdered rain, was crossed. Everything coated, blue and green Duckweed-esque and light over the rivers’ Sun, striped things dangling free-like; it was the ring of chiming Monk-bells from their shoulders, their helmeted cottoned heads Intricately woven, lithe linen lemon colored and sweet to the eyes that faced what was to fall. Out of her Frosty arms, across the overcast pavement—my lower lip now alkaline A piece of salted fresh meat and this is the dust that lifts me It is flesh and art that make it true. The smell of the Breeze that makes it real and soft and hard enough to feel. And all the beautiful black faces, judicious coldness, warmly to one another, listless wonders in their eyes as the year’s final breath jolted the earth and everything was blue cold.
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