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The Snow

Bruce Meyer
From:   Radio Silence. Black Moss Press, 1991 p 7


Time does not pass when snow is falling —
only the silence falls. Trees glisten, trembling

as a body trembles beneath a white sheet,
the room cold, shock of warm hands, feet

twisted and touching feet. The snow fell
and settled on her hair, diamonds to tell

the story of her beauty, silence in timelessness,
eyes saying stay, her whispers wordless.

That night I woke to the silence of snow. Her arm
was a season touching me, white, almost warm,

a light in darkness. The first snow falling
as only silence falls. The world lies listening.

Time passes as the seasons pass. Leaves sprouting
their tragic wings, November bravely shouting

its hypnotic soliloquy to a December sky, frail
and innocent, fear of first love as first things fail:

time stills in my mind like unbroken snow,
her face white and lovely at the window.



Bruce Meyer's works copyright © to the author.


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