5:30 am

There is a snowfall of daylight in my room:
Higher and higher it piles;
It falls on everything, deep into glow of wood,
Into the crevices it files…

Into shine of rug, up the books, against walls,
Sloping down mind, in blue air,
Layer after layer, mount these flakes of radiance,
Drifting everywhere,—

Until I’m suffocated under the snow hills of light,
And my veins would freeze
And I’d be buried but that I run for shelter
Under the deep awnings of green trees.


Summer Day, by Oscar Williams