Thaw

Tiny immortal streams are on the move:
The sun his hand uncloses like a statue,
Irrevocably thereby such light is freed 
That all the dingy hospital of snow 
Dies back to ditches Chalkbeds of heaven bear 
These nameless tributaries, but they run 
To earth. For here their pouring river reigns,
Here, busy with resurrection, sovereign waters 
Confer among the roots, causing to fall 
From patient memory forestfuls of grief.

How easily it falls, how easily I let drift
On the surface of morning feathers of self-reproach:
How easily I disperse the scolding of snow.