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| Photo (no flash allowed) of Mark Rothko Abstract #10 Taken at SAM |
How many letters I write you in my head.
About life being less and less real,
More and more true.
Then you wouldn't think I don't think about you.
I'm watching winter's first snow fall
Through the lighted window onto the pines.
Remembering last year when we found the alpacas
Met the white sheep dog
Bought green yarn, drank red wine.
I remember the ache that rose in my soul
With the beauty I'd seen through the Portland snow
It was telling me something I didn't quite get
Real and beautiful and not time for yet.
But how do you explain what you can't know
What you see in droplets of ice that melt
At the nearness of your breath
What you hear in the silent trees that scatters
At the pounding in your chest
I'm close to the top and one step off the ledge
I'd tell you in those letters you've never read
You can't write what can't be said.
But you can feel it in the cold, and see it in white and blue
The feeling is real, and the vision is too.
But is it true?
If you want to visually visit the alpaca farm,
check out these two links.
Though it isn't nearly as lovely as in the snow.
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