Snowstorm by David Gross

Fading fencerows.

All night into morning

pellets of ice and snow

crosshatch steely skies,

enameling earth,

disguising winter's poverty.

In the afternoon clouds part,

sunlight glosses porcelain pastures,

blackbirds and sparrows scratch snow

where a garden once grew.

But beside our porch steps

ragged spires of faded lavender

cast long shadows across a blank page,

portents of a poem

spring might bring.

David Gross lives with his wife on a small farm in southern Illinois near the Shawnee National Forest, where they hike and bird as often as possible. His most recent collection is Little Egypt (Woodhaven Press, 2017). He has recent poems in Acorn, Common Ground Review, Front Porch Review, and Otata.