Ed Harkness
Out of the Blue

Now and then it happens,
often in March, the sun
a dazzle in the bare aspens.

Blown from clouds
hidden behind Bethel Ridge,
snow will fall out of the blue

like sparks, a swarm of glitter,
floating first as feathers,
then cool specks on your cheek,

like tears from far away.
One moment,
you’re listing all your failings.

The next, you’re with your lover
on a gravel bar,
showered in a confetti of light.