The snow falls.
The cars on the street
are not moving in time,
seem to be part of some other space.
Not outer but inner.
Foreign bodies moving along
a sluggish express way of blood,
so red that it's brown, but not blue.
Not sad. Just winter, matter of fact
and assured of itself. It's not a freeze,
not a warp, just a solidifying.
A thickening in the air.
The snowflakes melt when they touch me.
I'm warm, still fluid. I'm alive.

03/13/2005

Posted on 03/13/2005
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