first pussy willow
under last thin snow
everywhere now

cropped up against
the horizon, the curving expanse
of midnight pine

my steaming breathing
measured by the swishing skis
on squeaky snow

the road home, each time
that i find it again,
never quite lost

what is the last time
that it decided not to happen
or was it just now

lynx looks filtered
through trees, and shock
to almost disappear

i accept
any hoar frost
on any branch