The wind is gusting.
Old man birch, wide eyed, faces right into it.
Nose like a prow of a ship.
Snow drapes from his forehead, wraps
around his eye, drifts the length of his nose.
His nose – an elongated flat knot
on the outward side of a slight crook in the
trunk – faces directly into the wind.
Wide-eyed old man birch! Arms open to what may come.
Eating snow at dawn. The first good snowfall.
I eat it off boughs and railings.
It is delicious.
A melt of minerals.
The next day it is granular.
(written 2.25.12 / modified 3.1.12)