Snow, Going home

Snow comes just when I know
I can keep it away by wishing.
Then my car door will not close,
after I've pried it open.
I slam it again and again,
until, ice-box-like,
it clicks
and seals me in.

And I drive,
my headlights
holing a no-time tunnel
where I see a mammoth
of the future,
swinging tusks of light,
spraying saltrocks
to ease my way.

My car and I become
a surfaced submarine and
captain. Swashbuckling along,
I listen to the snow angel
siren singing
"close your eyes and let go"
into the white waters
to the seabed below.

A sudden slip
makes me grip the wheel.
In sailorsongs,
there waits one
who ports you
more than pole-stars
or trade winds,
who shores your
engulfing streams
-- and I go home
to that one,
once more.