I guess the snow must love us deeply.
Smack in the heart of April the sharp
flakes fall. The branches can’t catch them.
The snow plows grow sullen. The warblers
are stalled 600 miles to the south, waiting
for rumors of green in the wind. Half of the waters
here are open. Half are a white waste where mallards
brood and crows rehash their guttural alphabets.

The snow must believe there’s never enough.
Whatever we lack the sky can deliver? Loving
not wisely but a little too well, snow pierces
the air like so many pale tattoos
you can’t remember why you coveted
such flakes as a child. Held out your arms.
Unfurled your tongue. Now all you feel is the bite
of spring snow falling out of love, I guess.

Max Garland lives in Eau Claire and is the current Poet Laureate of the State of Wisconsin. Learn more about Max at WisconsinAcademy.org/Contributor/Max-Garland