Stefanie P. Buckner

Many More Mornings 

Snow today, a Saturday morning
wearing winter.  It started off

slight & sparse.  My eyes
strained to see a small flake

here, another one way over
there.  Somehow I knew—

hoped really—that
if I looked hard and close—

insisted—sought—through cold,
otherwise empty air, I would find. 
Sure enough, two flakes became

four, & four became, both
slow & sudden, more: so numerous
that now the bare cherry blossom
tree is outlined with white, the vacant

roads full & still, doubts,
dry brown, forgotten.
I don’t know how many more mornings we have
left of snow this season.  I don’t know
how many more mornings we will watch
white fall from sky like love from this
bay window. But we have this many more

morning to survey, & savor, & save.

{Stefanie P. Buckner, sbuckner14@gmail.com}