A poem about my first Idaho winter

 

The engine shivers,

sends warmth to its vital organ:

the driver. Leaning lazily,

head resting

looking out

I watch the sky shed crystal cells

Dusting across the frigid ground,

Landing on the vertical glass,

Each of six arms reaching out in the confidence of cold.

The arrogance of ice.

I see them, each one a giant but still eating, still hungry.

Their elaborate growth from moment to moment of free-fall

Visible, detailed, exquisite,

And then

Brownian Chora.

Infancy.