Small flurries of forgetfulness
blow white through her declining years
as everything around her sinks
beneath the weight of snow.
In winter everything is simple.
Fading memories extinguished
form a dazzling empty backdrop
for the memories in colour that remain.
And all is well. Each note is right.
Each chord and harmony combines
to concentrate her straying mind.
The music of the past is hers.
Remembering again the truths
the keys of her piano taught
when she was young enough to care
she follows herself up the scale
through a winter wonderland of fields
and frozen rivers clothed in mist
into the vast enchanted realm
of childhood returned intact
the way it always was. She smiles
(in solitude, while dreams abide)
behind closed eyelids, wandering
with her dead brothers out into the snow.
And all is well, it’s beautiful. She’s home.
