we don’t realize . just how fragile something is . until it’s too late
most of history . is forgotten, even though . much is still the same
trying to fit in . the facade only reveals . that something does not
the world we can see . looking through frosted windows . seems almost perfect
it isn’t having . too little, it’s not sharing . when we have too much
it might be shocking . to see the actual face . of our inner voice
a fresh fallen snow . will gather on surfaces . we’ve never noticed
the calendar page . has turned, bringing with it change . only we can make
simply walking . requires stepping carefully . in a winter fog
time and space contract . to what is right here, right now . when the fog rolls in
uptown jack 