Snow

It blankets everything, doesn't it?                    What?

The snow

It makes you feel so warm

even though you're so cold

It's softer than a dove's feather

and brighter than the moon

on a clear Autumn night

So bright. . .

And silent as death during sleep,

creeping through the body

making every finger numb

to the hum of the energy of life.

Death is quiet in the snow

like a movie without sound

I scream, but my lips are frozen

Doesn't anybody hear?

I feel the snow blanket

my body and my face.

I fade away. . .

- Jan. 9, 1987, A.D.