Snows are coming. I must confess
my Eyes are a flood. The river's
running dry. If there are words for this I
cannot find them; My voice is dust. My hands . . .
chains bind them. When you died all the leaves
fell out of the trees, We fell out of ourselves and
onto our knees. When you left reason left.
Israel errupted. Our own headlines read The
Election's Corrupted. The ostankino tower burned down
the same day That I kissed your daughter and
she turned away. And now that you're gone
surprise seems mundane. The weather's gone mad, they're
calling for rain And cold. Like I said, the snows
are coming. Somewhere far off the choir is
humming. They've decided it's best if
nobody sing; They only have words that don't
mean anything. And you've been in the ground
for about a month now. My hope is this helps you to
understand how Much I was moved: for the past
thirty days I've been unable to speak or
write or praise.