February

There is light now
in the mornings. I wake
away from my dreams.
It is snowing. Trees
stand straight, colorless
against the white sky.

I cannot seem
to begin. Snow
fills the corners
of my house. Silent.
Glistening. Ice
on the mirrors.

I have been
in winter forever.
I cannot see
your face. Frost
blurs the pictures
in their frames.

   

Comments

[cierra]

awsome poem it sounds really deep