Snow-Town Meditations: Conversion.

Snow-Town Meditations: Conversion

I.

At sometime,
a snow-plow made mountains in this
empty parking lot.
Seagulls settle camouflaged
and singing this morning.

The mountains were once kingdoms of mine.

I climbed,
climbed kingdoms.
Crying queen-less
I climbed,
cried alone to thrones
and sat invisible to over takers,
blind of doubt.

In the succor of snow
and in its mirror the moon,
prostrated, I would pray, stay.
And the shallow winds somehow entertained.
I listened, smiled, then fell to sleep.

II.

In another morning,
the seagulls without scent of seas awoke me.

The might of suns' light
acknowledged it to my eyes.

Those quaint kingdoms
melted to saltless seas where seagulls still played,
where an embrace embraces the powerless, eternal flow.

III.

The night brings confusion.
The night brings doubt.
The night brings anger.
The night brings doubt.

Opening the hidden child,
behind the torn curtain I cry.

The night brings snow now.

IV.

the snow and sky are different hues of the same color.
a child in a snow-suit quits the creation of snow-angels,
and peers to the heaven where they supposedly come from.

the stars are scattered crystals mirroring snow sheets.
the child is alone, feeling alone, not noticing
the cold. snow-suits can protect for awhile.

the hollow, hallowed wind of meditation exclaims the night.
the child releases all movement for a moment of pause,
pausing the creation of angels that melt not away but up.

Don Erickson is a Master of Divinity student at Union Theological Seminary.