The snow came down like newborn spiders
parachuting away from their nests, or like fields
of dandelion tufts blown by giant children,
and in it men and women played games
tackling each other to the ground, running away,
flirting with the moonlight as
it spackled the night with shimmers.
They were on vacation from the world,
hiding behind business suits and skirts in the sun, now
metamorphosed by need. They played
with the wind fingering their hair and the light
almost hiding their naked in the whiteness.
There was no cold and there was no tired
except the calm fatigue we feel by letting go
the physical restraints, by giving the soul a crown,
by letting love be made instead of making love—
all these were part of their game.
Cries bounced between the earth and heaven
voicing joy, desire, delight
but most of all the freedom of spontaneous,
knowledge (that is not knowledge, but truth)
that no rules exist for now, that nothing is unallowed
in this cold night so friendly, so inviting…
They played and played…
Then dawn found the eastern horizon and blushed
to see these men and women lying in the drifts,
steaming with exertion, to fall asleep;
And when the sun arose, they were gone,
nothing left except impressions of their bodies
to prove that something had taken place.