Or What Was to Be There

Sun in the wet pines,
As the fresh snow melts,
Winks blue and green sparks,
Red and gold lights. Bits
Of sky and bow break.

Yes, trick of the eye,
Of the brain in back
Of the eye, the mind’s
Sprites that tell the brain,
You know it’s just you,

All those winked bright hues.
Minds have taught the brain
How to talk to minds
In brains, its own, too.
But still, tilt your head.

The ground that was dust
For months smells sweet now,
Red, white, brown, and damp.
The pines drip. Light winks
Waves you glimpse as tints.

It’s fine. Life’s not much,
Not this one at least,
But a light snow fell,
And for now it’s sweet.
So, let it be sweet.