No one is at the picnic table.
No one staying in hotel.The church is empty, icy cold.
The bench outside surrounded by untouched snow.
No one is driving to work today.
They’re just staying home alone.
My mind it whirs like a printing press.
Filling my head with words.
If I don’t leave this empty cave,
I’m sure I’ll go insane. (Below: Isolation)
(Below: Mind as a Tree)I must get out this door to trudge these snowy streets in solitude.
In this house there must be some lovers or a family.
Protected against the swirling winds and drifts of wild snow.Is this tree opening its branches to embrace me?
I follow fences with nowhere to go.
When one fence ends another begins.
This resilient bush keeps the snow away the best it can, suspended in branches.
This is me (below), with drooping branches, giving in to the weight.
There is no hope. The trees are dead.
Or are they?
I was missing a lover that day.