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.