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Shoveling Snow at Night


I am shoveling snow at night.

I love the snowy night sky,

moonless though all the

color of the moon,

disturbing the true

nature of the landscape

(in collusion with the snow).


I am scraping off the driveway,

a satisfying sound

of accomplishment and order.

Inside my husband and children sleep;

their sighing and shifting fill the house

which has sounds of its own:

the heat on and off,

the dishwasher churning,

a rhythmic storm

below them.


I see my footprints

up to the mailbox

where I have placed a love letter

to a long lost love, now found.

It starts to snow again

and I know I know –

the long lost love

will think I’m crazy;

my footprints will be filled.


And when the sun is up

and everything


my husband will be

busying himself to go,

and the children will be eager

for the snow.

And I, the unclear edges

of all that’s buried,

will look out from inside

at what I did this night

as useless.

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