Snow Angels

Look closely, carefully, and you can see the shapes

of angels left in the snow by children grown, now,

too old to fall back, arms outstretched, but falling still

through time and memory, rubber boots and home-knit mittens

silently caressing the snow into win’try gowns and wings,

soft impressions outlined, halo’d in the winter sun;

listen, too, to the angel voices, faint now, and fading,

children’s laughter in the chill air of winter, shrill,

joyous, a joy carried on a breeze still blowing,

gently blowing from the far reaches of remembrance.