A gentle snow falling, Lands on empty streets and disappears. From inside, we watch.
The empty streets scream With their silence. All we’ve lost Echos in their stillness
New York, this morning Under a harsh winter sun Waits, like the trees, for Spring
Under the kids chatter The refridgerator hums, A grey, blue morning
Docks, empty in winter Sway gently with the incoming tide Awaiting summer
Inside, a guitar plays Soft, delicate strings of notes Outside, the wind cries
The dull hum of the engine Vibrates the seat below me, In my car, alone