After Snow
I'm the first car after the sander.
The cinnamon swirls of fresh sand are intact.
Except for that—the sand and the road—
The woods look as if they might have
a thousand years ago, except for
the absence of tracks.
Copyright Credit: Poem copyright ©2018 by Chase Twichell, "After Snow," from Things as It Is, (Copper Canyon Press, 2018). Poem reprinted by permission of Chase Twichell and the publisher.