Cold and quiet
are the snow-covered trees
when the weeks are of equal length to the year.
When the nights lead the days
and the paragraphs are too short
to describe the feeling
that wanders into the dark.
We have words that flow to music
and rooms that fill with white hot light
but our minds are too cold to feel it
so we speak of nothingness
shivers and nothingness.
And how the wind that attacks under the moon
is too cold
to let us feel a thing.
