New York,
leaving in the morning,
the Hudson River Drive-
North, the city hidden
behind walls of granite
besides which,
the grandeur of the snow laden
Palisades,
Witch's Broom
covered,
driving into silence.
Imagine,
where does it come from,
this white silence?
It comes from above,
like so many schoolboy crafts,
the trees drawn,
bare, reaching,
traced with glue
and covered with glitter.
And later,
falling sheets,
at the lightest breath.
The silence outside;
The silence within.
