In a snowfield, footprints suddenly end:
as if in mid-step all this open space
swallowed you, or the icy wind whispered
a magic vanishing spell. O where are you
hiding?  Snowflakes spin and whirl, alive.
Then I touch them, and they die. Nearby
a barren tree gives its shape to snow:
shadow of your graceful dance.

Lost in nightmare depths of the city
Trapped in webs of endless streets
Entangled in nets of blinding lights
I cry out your name, my voice
drowned by sirens and angry shouts—
I escape into a dark alley,
island of silence. Then suddenly I hear:
echoes of your fleeting song.

I remember you'd sit by the window,
watching the sunset and the swaying trees.
You said you were waiting for the wind
to carry away your stubborn inner weight
so as music you'd soar upwards and sing to stars.
You learned too soon the nightwind carries
only itself. That's what made you invisible:
ghost of your fragile shape.

Last lightning flash of your eyes:
and your hand thunders away from mine.
Silence.  O how the tired dust falls like snow
after a storm: it rests on this antique furniture,
the piano no one's played for years,
books we can't read anymore, even this mirror
I stare into. Here your eyes meet mine again:
reflection of your final glance.