I was intending to pair it with something from Chase Twichell's Snow Watcher, but currently I can't find the book - that's the snag with slim volumes of poetry. So I'll make do with some lines from the same book I've quoted before:
Nothing has a name it can't
slip out of. The waterfall is solid ice
by late November; the white pines
vanish under snow that's
blue in the morning, pink in the dusk.
I hope they go together well.