Snow

Today I saw the white flecks

of time falling through the air.

Today I saw the snow flakes

their delicate designs melting.

I picture you from time to time

clasping your copy of To Kill a Mocking Bird

and running your hand along the

white and smooth surface of death.

You are in that room for eternity,

you, waiting and knowing

going inward and inward.

It is soft.

The way it comes to you.

It’s like a sleep, but it’s not.

It is always coming to you

and washing over you.

It’s like a sleep after an

exhausting day.

Here is my mantra. The thing

you made me understand.

We all have to die, just

some of us, sooner than others.