Death you are white snow in winter, cold
as ice where
angels with lowered wings lie sleeping. I dream
you are a great root, gathering
seeds in still waters. A verdant
spring benumbed in winter. Oh death
you are as white as full moonlight. An
invisible womb embracing
space. One thousand seeds wait in
your interior chamber, emit
sounds, a cacophony
of sounds, echoing voices, past
lives, memories. You breath
them into life again. Oh Death
I feel your breath
piercing through me, intangible
shadows beneath my light.
How easily I move in
and out of your gateway deeper
deepening into your joyful springs. I dreamt
your cool air turned to wind
whirling me
upward into flight. There
were no traces of my footprints returning homeward.