STANLEY PLUMLY

Winter Coastal Haiku

     Snow again, broken
from the clouds, falling, half-
     falling through white air.

     Snow in trees, the fields
filling up—we can hold it
     in both hands, warm hands.

     Snow on the East Road
listening to itself, a few
     lost sea miles inland.

     Snowflakes almost large
enough to count, the crow’s wings
     opening darker.

     The long blue evening
turning night—“it was snowing . . .
     it was going to snow.”

     The roofs of barns on
fire, the dawn down snow rows of
     cut December corn.

     The dawn down snow rows
of cut December corn, roofs
     of the barns on fire.