The quiet falling of the snow is comparable to the floating ballroom dancers of my dreams
And the elegance of the frozen designs on my window is a perfect likeness to the lines
I make in my sleep,
When I’m eloquently navigating my consciousness
And faraway images of snow white feathers from singing doves drifting downwards,
To greet my outstretched arms that bend at angles unnatural in the fog
I wonder if there is a point to these spectacles,
These lovely figments of my life from so long ago
That I tend to create in my spare time, for there is nothing else to do
During the steamy summer days when we wonder how the cramped sauna could compare
When this invisible wetness is everywhere

And right now we bake in the sun that glares incomparably down upon our sweat soaked bodies
Try to remember of the winter, and how cold we were even when wrapped in our cashmere sweaters
And tattered old blankets
Sleeping under bridges and skating in the frozen pond
Weaving knots of beauty on the crystalline ice
That sparkled
And glistened

Forever gone those days seem to be
To the ones who wish for them so desperately
Like me
And I think of floating ballroom dancers, coming out of the sky
And I remember elegant frozen designs on my window
And I stroke the memory from the back of my mind
Of snow white feathers
And doves
And winter