How lucky to be ignorant,
to greet joy without a trace of suspicion,
to take that first step without worrying what
comes trailing after, as night trails after day,
or winter summer, or confusion where all
seemed clear and each moment was its own reward. “Waking” by Stephen Dobyns, from Velocities.
Snow is falling west of here. The mountains have more than a foot of it. I see the early morning sky dark as night. I won’t lis- ten to the weather report. I’ll let the question of snow hang.