The Walk

November 7, 2012

Cold wind blowing

It whips the snow all around

My face, whiter than white

I blend in, invisibly

Hiding in plain sight

Through the window

I think I can see the lamp on

And you by the fire all cozy

But clear glass never hides the truth

Dreams come and gone

Tossed to and fro

Back into the oblivion

From which I came

Where I observe with an unfiltered lens

I like it that way