It shatters into ice-tray chips

That melt to ashes in the atmosphere,

Softly floating down to you.

Flakes landing in your front yard

Like the burning leaves of autumn,

But then blowing elsewhere

Caught in the breath of heaven’s air.

Can a child collect

The ashes of a heart

And roll a snowman on the lawn?

No answer is certain,

Not even the coming dawn,

And my wanderings, like the ash,

Wonder on and on.