First Snow

I want the world to stay like this,
fragile and new in the early morning:
first snow on the silhouette of every tree,
stars fading into the sun’s first light.

Fragile and new in the early morning,
I wake to lift my son from his crib.
Stars fade into the sun’s first light.
Sunrise is a blossom through winter fog.

I wake to lift my son from his crib.
His eyes watch me. I listen to his breath.
Sunrise is a blossom through winter fog.
Beauty is a silent teacher.

Maybe his breath is the sun.
I pull him close, turn his face to the window:
beauty is a silent teacher.
A doe lifts her head in the frozen field.

My son’s face at the window,
first snow on the silhouette of every tree,
a doe lifts her head in the frozen field:
I want the world to stay like this.