The Days Poem by Morgan Michaels

As numberless, as inexplicably
as meltingly, as filled with airy grace
as solely, as various of face
as snowflakes that shake down from heaven's roof
and whirling, through a mica tumulus
of cloud, pelt endlessly, at first, the earth;

Then fewer and less numerous they seem
and those that earlier fell more like a dream
and less like flecks of snow they come, and more
like dried-up leaves that fall in Autumn, low,
too ultimate and similar to each other,
leaving all their branches shiny bare;

Till we become obliged to find less meaning
in greater manifestings; or as much
or greater meaning in as much or less;
or fantasize or live content with neither,
or wonder, their finale well forseen
on what is now, has been or might have been.