After a loooong stretch of bitter cold here, the snow has finally melted. But February still seems like a good time to share this poem I wrote several years ago.

Monument

A monument
to winter, the jagged snow fort, walls as tall
as the eight-year-old who sculpted the blocks
lifting each into place, laboring with hard
determination, forgoing rest and
apple cider. He could be building
the pyramids. He mourns the growing warmth
of the sun. He wants his work to endure
in measure to his devotion,
kin to the Bamyan Buddhas, for ages.
He’s heavy with the tension between attachment
and impermanence. Fifteen hours, fifteen
centuries – neither is forever. But there will be
other statues, sages,
winters, snows, boys.

**