Do you have a quiet time, early in the morning,
when the snow lining a tree branch
is filled with a race of tiny beings
(not unlike your uncle or your sister)
and for whom the tree is a universe set apart,
or at least a celestial mountain with a spirit and a name.
There is a place on that mountain,
high above the mysterious plain
(and where the wind is still strong),
below which they will not go.