Snow sugar-dusts the harvested cedar,
their trunks stacked like stairs
a gray sky.
Root hillocks create stationary waves,
restless stillness in the new field,
frozen-frothy in the wind.
Come here and touch the fresh snow with your fingertips-
can you feel it?
The baby cedar crying in the darkness,
digging up through
carcasses and damp and cold,
restless to point
at the distant sun
and wave arms at birds in flight.