On a cool winter's night,
when the snow falls fast,
the sky is pinky-grey
and the trees look
like black lace
silhouetted against the clouds.

I wonder, is it the city,
the lights reflecting
on the low clouds,
lighting up the skies?

I wonder, does anyone else
see the black trim
on pale pink gauze
that is so difficult to see?

I go outside
and the soft flakes
kiss my cheeks and eyelashes
and my mouth
curves into a smile.

For the night is quiet
and mine alone,
and through the amber
circles of misty glow
of the streetlights,
I can see the foggy ends
of my small world.