02.00 a.m. shut up and let the snow speak.
the posture of the weaving trees sights
a complain. if you could speak the language
it would be about too much white, too little
green.
03.00 a.m. the scene’s self-portrait on the glass.
lines away from becoming a mosaic. the pieces
handshake until they fall in the right place in a
mesh. a hymn away from becoming a church.
03.01 a.m. boiling jealousy of the water.
03.02 a.m. only a theft.
a new horizon forms where feet press. faces and
human faces, silhouettes, the mirror itself, mirrored
on the water. you could throw a stone, but I am afraid
it’s stoneproof.
03.15 a.m. colour eclipses, of course.
some mistaken for shadows, some mistaken for skin.
speak. I said meet me at 02.00 a.m. where the horizon is.
there is a transparency in emotion, some art-
ificial quality even in the way I can tell time
just from the melting of the snow
(which isn’t melting).
what is the word? a blur.
03.15 a.m. last brush of black and white.
you are late, but nice to meet you. let me tell you
about the differences I found between this mural
and this mural: one of them is wet.