Snow Country
desolate the reach
of space a
curved line of
white empty as
the loneliness one
feels the tone
is different on
a day like
this she says
unaware that her
words fall like
snow in the
mountains soft quiet
in the roar
no one hears
* * *
Another piece from the eighties…this first appeared here in November 2015.
O at the Edges 
We’re currently reading aloud ‘The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe’ as a family, and your poem is a fine parallel, and with the photo of faces of stone…
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Thank you, Amaya. I’ve not read that in quite a while. Perhaps it’s time to crack it open again.
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