Grandma Gone

I‘ve never seen roads
this tearful
bleeding in vain,
like the veins of my heart.

I’ve never seen this roads this doused in snow flakes,
my eyes, this drowsed,
in white feather
bursting out of such scarce decrepit cushion.

Behold,
this stem of cotton
has broken
at the prime
of its whiteness.

October 2010