Thirty thousand or more
forms drfited to oneside,
a parachutists’ formation
landed without a sound;
white strands of hair flicked,
then fell upon opened hands
to the icy ground.
From a shop window,
frosted from the morning,
I peered outside the glass
and ageing ceased awhile
under an ivory coating.
Some happenings
can turn back the clock.
Snowflakes settled time
to forget a momentary chill,
and I was glad to venture out,
well known streets before me,
to watch footprints disappear
in a new covering.
