SNOW LIGHT IS THE TRUE LIGHT by Martha Webster
Riga Mountain trail,
our last hike before the blizzard.
The hawk we spooked
is perched across the pond—
a scent of snow
hangs heavy in the air.
The rabbit’s eye is big
and berry-bright,
lucid as a black marble.
He looks untouched
except his skull—
an open, red
pomegranate.
No clotting yet.
