Death in Snow *

I long to die on a winters day, when the bleak black sky rushes in,

hungry to take me. And my body will lay in a den of trees, the

shroud of peace and quiet draped over me. Maybe I'll be submerged

in snow, natures white eraser. A knowing owl will cast its eyes upon

the corpse and collect my sins. All my failings will emerge in spring,

as water, the thaw collecting in the rivers and streams, sailing out

to sea.