Snow

I dreamed of snow in August
Its quiet embrace
Holding us white and unconnected to the world
A floating dream of kisses and snowflakes

Icy hexagons are stacked up on my sill
No footstep in the drifts
The harsh metallic ring resounds
Of spade on frozen ground
Bow your head
Here comes a hearse
And on it lies my heart, still warm

Louise Hill, 2000