At Dusk


my silence, having become the silence
of the afternoon,
washed the subtle moment of sunlight
and took away
the divisions completely between what
it looked like


and what it felt like. Snow covered
the ground of my
dreams and chilled the meaning of the day.
I wonder
if we could ever call it forth again,
the stillness,

the wonder of wet weather in white and
black, black
and white. This quietness and the swish
of the tires
against the white snow. The small boy
and his sled.