There are explosions
Behind my eyelids:
I can feel a winter breeze,
Descend through the canopy of pines
On the evergreen trees. They shake
The smells of Egypt and Russia,
The desers and the tundras of this world
All ride alongside each microscopic
I cannot see them tonight,
But it is early for snow.
I wish to see the specks of ice,
Too warm for snow, a murky soup of mud in place.
My eyes are closed,
Watery eyed, I smile thinking about the snowy prospect