by Ana Blandiana
But later that morning
I saw you pass the gates with bagfuls of ash
Scattering them as you went as if sowing wheat.
Unable to contain myself, I shouted:
'What are you doing? What are you doing?
It is for you that I snowed over town, all night long,
It is for you that I have blanched all things,
All night long,
If only you knew how difficult it is to snow!'
Last night as I flew into space, you had fallen asleep.
It was dark out there and cold.
I flew all the way to the one place where,
Causing the suns to spin, vacuum snuffs them out,
And, still aching in this corner
To return and snow you over,
I watched, weighed and approved each tiny snowflake,
Saw each one mature, made glisten by my eyes.
Now, feverish, exhausted, sleep will take me
And as I watch you spread the ash of extinct fire
Over my immaculate white work, I smile and tell you:
Snowdrifts higher than these will succeed me
And will cover you with all the white in the world.
So heed this law now:
Gigantic snowdrifts will succeed us
And all your ash will not suffice.
Even the smallest baby will learn to snow
And the white will cover your vain attempts to deny it.
And the Earth will enter the whirl of planets,
A star glistening with snow.