What is a home? I don't know.
Maybe, it's twittering of a sparrow
Or smell of hands preparing sweets
Or children's laughter on the street
Or your reflection in the mirror
Or winter that begins with snow.
What is a home? I don't know.
What is snow? I don't know.
Maybe, it's frozen dreams of God
That covered fallen leaves
And your umbrella under trees
And honking of the latest geese
And groan unforgiven soul.
What is snow? I don't know.
What is my soul? I don't know.
Maybe, I'm just imaging me?
Me, that is flying under cloud
And calling you without sound
And winding through the grass around
And begging to forget the tears.
What is my soul? I don't know.
November 1995