I crave a loveliness that borders on the
sublime. A breathless, whipping cold
asks me to look up, so I do.
Tonight, the firmament has gone
feathery with the promise of snow,
the asthmatic milky gray of a gathering tornado.
The moon is a pearl dissolving behind
its cover of clouds. The snow accepts
its weak rays of silver light and volleys
them back softly, patiently. This light
does not melt but suffuses itself with silver.
Trees gone wicked and brittle in the wind
cradle tufts of snow still as sleeping birds
in the crooks of their branches, illumined
against minuscule suns, gold-flake haloes
spilling over and out through the arched
windows of austere chapel rooms. And
I am satiated.
Delphine McGee (she/her) is a College third-year from Jersey City, NJ, majoring in Comparative Literature. She gets her passion for poetry from her mother and grandmother.
