Sending Light

by David Wyatt

The winter–bloom of stones
                        Philip Boatright

And rock, also, even at its coldest,
Sends light back to the sun.
Who’s watching the reaction?
Windows glazed, seemingly useless.
A newspaper slaps the front door
But stories in it are those
Of the Pleistocene.  A neighbor
Walks past the house, her dog
Sniffing out faint yet still crystalline snow.
The woman squints, pulling on the leash.
Who notices the stones wilting? —
This early.