Blackbird Archive← v6n2, Fall 2007Poetry · Volume 6, Number 2
First Snowfall
Snow layered itself
over the already dead,
those clumps of tomato
plants I’d neglected
from the summer lay
crumpled under drifts,
their bones muscled
with cold near the shed.
I spoke your name,
and it spun there,
our little ghost,
spreading open
its arms until they
were bare limbs
of trees, my neighbor’s
broken fence, this
bright distance
between us.
