Foggy navy skies
And purple and pink clouds
Gleam and glow,
And we wait and we wait
Waiting for snow.

I find light in the gentle
Falling of fluffy wads of snowflakes,
Softly caressing the earth.
And the grass freezing
With the morning dew,
There is a type of comfort
In the slow destruction.

Slow and calm,
Freezing winds rush through the air,
And the harsh drought upon my skin
Gives way to the slow destruction
That winter brings.

But if I must be destroyed
But gentle cold
Compared to stinging heat,
Then watching the snow drift
Down from the heavens
Isn't the worst way
To be reborn.

Somebody bundled
it into a clock
and slung it up high on a wall,

with numbers
like bars between us,
where there had been nothing before;

before,
my days had come open,
open and endless like sky,

but boxed on the wall
there looked no room for all
of the rest of my lifetime and I.