by Joseph Prever
The snow ceased at noon and froze at midnight.
The next day dawned in stillness, sheathed in ice.
The landscape, all reduced to lucid contours,
Seemed something new, a homely kind of wonder.
He stood on the porch, unwilling yet to breach
The shining skin, unready to disperse
A certain foolish thought that rose before him:
That his or any other weight would prove
Too slight to pierce the cold eternal glazing,
That he or the world had changed beyond repairing:
That the moment he struck the ice, his deft and prayerful
Touch would set the hills all deeply chiming.
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Original bio from the Midsummer 2007 edition:
Joseph Prever is an ex-ex-romantic logophile. He enjoys Metro stations, pointing out zeugmas, and misidentifying wildflowers. He currently resides in Arlington, VA.