when the first snow has fallen…,
crystals of some foreign planet,
faces looking up, souls inward,
as a bird of perpetual flapping,
enigmatic existence…,
that is how we met…,
true travelers of ignited North,
small prayers on small acts of kindness,
sun on top of the moon…,
wind gushing through your fence,
trees all dressed in the servitude of Autumn,
we are truly wealthy beyond measure,
beyond all accounts…,
as a harbinger of solitude,
the slap of future over the face of mankind,
there is a ghost following you,
whose ghost are you?…,
as a kid, smacking lips together,
different tastes of certain spices,
like a train blowing noise with smoke,
chuggin, n chuggin to those distant lands,
where there grow a wild, wild trees,
and bushes, and berries, and beautiful women,
as to say: search for me
and I will show you beauty,
and search we did,
as to answer that foreign call, that God,
echoes of spruce falling in the mist of winter,
soon upon us with its purity…,
a sky so creamy as a flat white coffee,
your neck fighting the urge to push that head,
push it for a tiny kiss,
just for me, just for fun,
and I remember your smell,
took me a long while to fade those roses,
the terrors of not knowing, or knowing too much,
all flew away with the birds,
flowed away with the stream, a river,
crude rain over the gray Mountain (singing our song),
you were there, always,
as Nature is to all things,
until remedy came not from friendship,
but solitude of togetherness,
as a bleak flex of steam cleaning the inpurities,
we cleansed our souls by the mere presence,
that was all that was needed,
no more, no less…,
