Snowflakes
For Edwin Pajak, The Snow Maker, 4.15.04
I walk, barefoot,
On the snowflakes
That litter the ground,
But I feel no cold
Only emptiness.
Your life, your passion,
Lie on my tiled floor,
Scraps of sacred paper,
White, yellow, blue, pink,
None like the others.
They're all I have now,
Your special snowy legacy.
When the winter comes
No snowflake will compare
To your perfect blizzard.