I never cared much
For winter
The trees huddled
Like orphan dolmens
Shivering under
The cold slate sky
A capstone quoit.

It is the silence of it all.

An attic in a house
Dusty with dead memories
And whitened scars.

It is the deadness of it all.

But what would life be
Without problems?
Demasiado cómodo
And what would spring mean
If it did not follow winter
Because the whitest light
Is nothing
Without a thread
Of darkness.
And what would love
Be without pain
A marriage of comfort.

It is the mix
In the life
You live
In between
The Tao of it all.