We take the risk of being overwhelmed
to step one boot into the pristine squall.
Illusions, spells, fantasies; a million
shattered blisses can’t prepare us for the loss
of equilibrium when the swell of blizzard
wraps around us.
One dies many deaths when drowning answerless
in a drift that misdirects the feet, fragments
of debris, the only proof of our existence.
Such is our meager monument,
a tiny blip on the timeline
of to be.
Neither fog nor smoke — the clouded mind
nor the clever tongue — can find the truth
or hide it
when the wind is at the door
and the blizzard is building. The skyline,
ever changing, fades like history rewritten.