First Snow

December 8, upon seeing snowfall for the first time.

I saw snow fall from my apartment widow
Animated, light, singular, like ghosts or like children
And something hidden in their little chests,
carrying some message, on some mission, whirling, dancing around
serious as a boy playing at a robber
Some in groups, some alone
They were happy, first to arrive
As if vying for the best place on a playground.

And I watched from this side of the glass
All these years I saw it only through glass
in a little globe or on a screen,
But I know now what is the truest thing about snow
it's what I'd always known and now I see
What it is to be
white as snow

And I prayed, "o my dear Lord, what do I do
About the pain?"
That bleeds seeping
That throbs like a heartsore at night?
I walked outside from behind the glass
In among the flakes
And soon it caked over the black pavement
And the gaping dustbins all open with excess
and the snow fell and filled the fountain near saint Giles

And "O my dear Lord," I prayed, "what about the pain?"

Snowflakes in wild youth
Rushing and crashing into you
Innocent and reckless, did you know
They'll fly right into your eye?
And you wouldn't really even mind!

And the Spanish girls in the café
Were pleased with the pictures on their coffee
And the pictures of snow on their phones
And the Englishmen were grumbling about the government in their pubs
And speaking about the will of the general public
And these days it's so hard to tell
When all is sound
If all is as it should be

At Old Saint Paul's Church
the choir still sings every Sunday
The songs that Cranmer wrote all those years ago
And for this, praise God
while the words of the patron saint go down best with a pinch of salt
– but the bread still nourishes
And the wine still washes
And how it burns, glowing like a coal as it flows down your throat
grows and swells into something alive,
some sense of eternity
so soon subsiding in to the utterance,

"O my dear Lord, what do I do about the pain?"