POEM
White Darkness
Whether this is time or snow, passing
Through the night, earthward,
Who can tell—
Each particle only an illusion; yet massing,
Mounting over all,
Hushing the footfall,
Silencing the bell.
“I am confused,”
Said the traveler, “hearing no sound
Though my feet touch the ground
As they are used.”
Soft as a shadow on fur
The filling places
Where his footsteps were;
Lost without shape or grime
His path through the level spaces.
How can we certainly know
If this is time
Falling, or snow?
Virginia Hamilton Adair, “White Darkness” from Ants on the Melon. Copyright © 1996 by Virginia Hamilton Adair. Used by permission of Random House, Inc.
Source: Ants on the Melon: A Collection of Poems (1996)
Though born in New York City in 1913, poet Virginia Hamilton Adair spent much of her youth . . . MORE »
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