Every Color Of Human Hue

Quietly, the snow does fall 

white like pages in a novel, 

footsteps here and there like ink 

and where they go is the story. 

And through the woods and wishful way, 

sauntering past streets gray-laid 

sprinkles wet the whipping wraiths 

of snow and frost and coldly things 

grinning, they descend their plays 

on us, making familiar into foreign 

our world into ghostly origin 

the snow covers all of it. 

But every color of human hue 

can juxtapose these jinxes, 

permafrost not permanent 

so long as we can help it.