Abetting

After too much winter, too many snow

angels had disappointed you, refusing

to be a beacon of living Easter light.

You walked with your eyes down,

watching the snow mash with the grit

of tan sidewalks, making March shorelines.

The patterns your shoes left, rigid chevrons

pointing backwards with soft arrow skids,

begged you to turn and witness your path

evaporate and rise into the firmament with

a whisper, See, you leave no imprint on this Earth.