Yosemite Simile

Gullies dammed on
Ice-falls raged
And bubbled.
These were troubled
Times, and cold--
Chipping footholds where
Streams overflowed
And froze into
Unforgiving glass.
A dozen times we
Lost our footing
On the pass and
Slid grasping what
Grew through --a
Foolish hike,
Winter too.

Greensward Sunrise

Impossibilities seen
Ahead of dawn
On a raw day:
An elegant ghost
Trailing across
Lawn toward
A wagon on
Slow gray wheels.
Geese untuck their heads,
Silent, not scared.
These are not spectres
Of the dead but
Dreams hauled away,
Cleared for children
Waking, children who
Will shortly wake
And come to play.