Wash your hands in morning snow
Before the scars of earth have scored
The skin of it with iron plows,
Trampled, fouled and ignored
Weightless when it falls and stark,
Soundless in enormity,
Numberless, a jeweler's work,
Intricate severity
Melted in the human hand
A phase transition makes it run
Enough to baptize every man
And woman underneath the sun
And as the Lord came down from light
Weightless till He took His form,
The snow comes down, a silent night,
A sudden purity is born
