snow bombs
sometimes you hear the womp
of a pile of plush snow
plunging from the treetops
down onto a deep drift first
other times a curtain
of sifted snow waves across the sky
like a veil between the trees
every time I look for the chickaree
or chickadee who precipitated it
there’s nothing
it seems the work of snow spirits
walkers on the wind
beings keeping watch over us
who we can only know
by what else they move
snow ghosts sneezing up
soft clouds of hushed white debris
