Poetry Pick

FLASH OF SNOW by Allan Briesmaster Ontario, Canada

I'd gone out late alone and far, sledding a snowstorm- emptied road that sloped forever into whirling down. Then moored my rocket at the crest, to catch my breath. Nearby, a solitary lamp detailed white motion. Drawn under, suddenly among the fleeing moths, I blinked up while their cornucopia of dust poured— until with longer looking I could pause a few spangles on eddies on the myriad-striated dark. Or so I would remember when, between a sodium glare and grey acid slurry underfoot, the curtain thins again and tears through some small cataract of ice: and I am shaken by the flashes that, though scattering, have passed the speed and any sense of mortal light. From Weighted Light (watershedBooks, 1998)

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