I got to work on a poem in the moonlight. I made notes on a piece of paper of everything that came to me. My cluttered mind was not satisfied, though. The paper was shredded by me. however, I was drawn to a single line on a piece of shredded paper that read as follows:
"Poetry has a consciousness of its own.
It will become apparent "
I zealously resumed writing.

it is snowing

slow
monotonous snow
with the patience of a lazy bear
it falls
across the church (now, an antique shop)
on the left, the abandoned house, tonight, wishes
may she also be seen by the stones, like a miner
has a light on its forehead,
in front of our house, the bulb lights burn  and
are in competition with the farm on the hill,
the snow settles comfortably on every single  tree,
I wonder,  scientifically, how much snow can a tree hold,
but some twigs?
I pray for the snow  to keep falling,
the roofs, you  would say, are kufi hats thrown from the sky,
we don't know when it will snow again,
the world is gossiping: global warming, the earth is heating up,
I think it's the other way around, the sky warmed up again
and the earth is cold
cold,
as if embalmed to stop its decomposition

*

the sky, as usual
sacrifices itself

it is snowing  white-gray

snowing

Nobody knew I am on the road
Except for Ronda,

I had new responsibilities,
The money helped to  survive with food, heat, and electricity,

Every Monday
I go back to the bush, and she took care of the home,

It was just live,

And it was good,

Because we cared for each other,

We met in a strange way,

The toilet was filled with  ****,

They were living like this, and being taken advantage of,
Nobody has to leave in those conditions,
For food, she was getting money from her father,  a  trapper, and fisherman,

I wanted to take care of her, and Wendy,  her little daughter,

Ronda was looking for love in a relationship,

She knew that would take care of her.

The trailer where she was living, that trailer was on her father's property,
The property was big enough, a refrigerator plant, that kept the hunting food frozen for the winter,
It had other places where he can put a dead hunted body,

I tried my best.

What did she do after you were gone?

She found love,

Ronda,  Wendy, Teresa,

I am not there,

So much shame, so much regret,

I was working up in Ear Falls, a gold mine,  more than a mile deep into the earth,
Working with my  hands, explosives

So much shame,
So much regret,
I lived with the pain of not holding, not even once,  holding my daughter in my arms,

Explosives, made by the Chinese, invented by the  Nobel,
He made all his money by selling gunpowder, blowing out the earth,
And this is where the mining started,  
After each  explosion, we go down into the mine and  take the all rock out with our hands,

All my life I lived with the pain of not holding my daughter in my arms,

Later he invested in Nobel prizes,
but,
She knew
Love will take care of her.