Gentle Colors-The snow on antiqute street

The snow on Antique streets
The snow fell again last night covering that which had been tainted. But I know it was not removed but just concealed. Before the advent of Spring, the bared surface would show its sooty sorrow. I see you stumbling on Bleecker street, like a senile dog, showing no pity or sympathy. Your weakened eyes staring at a window displaying antiquated quilts, Fathoming the eternity in its cut and quilted pieces of color. I know there is nothing to be found in this bustling street anymore. Life now devoid of rapture, but I have no regrets about or returning to my misspent youth when I used to believe a covering was a lie. The hunter lives for hunting, but ain't I lucky I no longer need it!		This morning was overlaid with foreboding silence. I felt the uneasiness, Then my finger touched your sleepy dry lip. You awoke, smiling and said; " I did the same thing to you in the middle of the night." We shared a laugh, a still newborn laugh. Then we prayed without knowing what for, 'cause we had being doing it for so long. Does everyone call the place beyond your reach a death? Can people define OLD or NEW? All our worries accumulate in the void of the future, We will then also be wrapped in the snowy-white, happily disappearing from here. Snow falling on Antique streets, Snow falling on your hair, thin shinning silver strings.