THE FIRST SNOW

The first snow
breathes outside our house
from a night's Northeaster
slumbers toward morning
when childhood watches
the shivering fields
in the grey dawn
it been a weathered March
by fir leaves and pines
and a boy near the keyhole
spies the few icicles
from the slate roof
on a frosty windowpane
and the cat runs by
waiting for its milk
as white flakes
float through clouds
in the lightening air
and a sparrow searches
on minty branches
for slices of bread.