Drifting

Yesterday, caught up in a daydream,
I dropped my keys
into a snowdrift,
not the friendly kind of snowdrift
that holds things for you,
the other kind,
that swallows all it can
even shoes, an occasional car.

Not caring to interrupt the liberty
served up by fantasy,
and not wanting to dig, I left my keys.

This morning the sun reached in
and slapped my face, reminding me
of my keys, their cold grave.

So I passed the snowdrift again;
I fed it other cares, books, a stapler,
old pictures, my hat, wonders mostly unnecessary.

I just kept on going, bouncing along,
captivated by possibility.

          CHRIS FERRIANS