The snow idol

The snow still fell on Peter's field as we
loped a trail of crazy bootprints - looked like
two three-legged knock-kneed men. And Mike
laid down and waved an angel.

Michael,

Me,

Then Peter,

carving mystic siloettes
And strange, I saw the picture whole, the frieze
of shapes and images, and sculpted these
in snow, to act my vision's cold vignette:
a comic strip of twisted people, limbs
bent double, fingers spread and reaching for
the towering, laughing idol's feet. And all
we made, I knew, fufilled the idol's whims.

This strange creation's fingers splay
To grasp and wipe the angel Mike away.