The morning mist roams
back and forth like a
voiceless wanderer.
More startling than
that windowpane red with sun
are your ice blue eyes.
Deep winterset night.
Sleepless stars glide through the sky
in aerial ballet.
Even Goya’s portraits
are less intriguing than faces
of frost on my window.
A snowflake
falls in my surprised eyes
…all is black.
In our frail world
even meteors, the eyes of heaven,
fall like dust from God’s hands.
