Ann Pilling

Snow light is big, like sea light, you know

something has happened, when you were in bed

or dozing in the back of a car. It feels different.

It snowed in this room, the white

of my sheet met the wall’s white, a brilliance

plucked my eyes open and there was

a silence on me that was not familiar

like the wrong coat. It is intense

this quiet of snow

like silence after music.

But already, while I’m still wondering

how it feels to be all white,

to be like swans or angels, the roof opposite

crumples and falls with a thud into the street

setting off fat flakes

that shake themselves from the privets

like a dog just out of the river.

Ann Pilling