In a corner of our garden
we built up a massive snowman,
stood back and marveled at our work:
the darkling eyes and ivory cheeks
and ears made out of orange skin,
a moon shaped mouth from crinoline,
an apple that we chopped in half
became a nose onto his face
(we chomped the other piece with zest),
stood back and clocked the snowman’s gaze.
We looked at him, he looked at us
or else that seemed the way it was
but then a wind harassed and dark
engulfed the scene, enforced a wrap.
Inside, hot chocolate warmed our hands
but rain started pattering hard;
telling tall tales from arctic times
on windows, walls; battering rams
attacked a house, attacked our home.
Next day, we ventured to sense him;
of how he’d changed, withstood a life.
We hoped for fire, a wink, a spark
but slowly he had, through the dark,
stripped of himself; become his block of ice.