Sheets of gold sheen under scattered street lights
have turned sloped brown-green yards to treasure fields.
Yellow-powder blaze from these lamps brings sight
of falling burnished coins—small glowing shields
dropped by legions of angels yielding from
on high to our soft prayers for peace of mind
and heart, our pleas for soul-cleansing kingdoms
within us. So this is why flakes in kind
silence descend around us, landing mute
as feathers, massing like glistening jewels,
honoring earth and us with blessed tribute—
nature’s bullion which land and crystal pools
will cherish for all. Now snow pours in pale
vast cascades, cloaking night in gleaming veils.
Roger Armbrust
February 4, 2011
