First Snow

Late morn‘ still an ongoing

grey morning

the mind drives thru’

a steady pale dream.

The irritating coughing


bacillus  virus lie frozen

below the snow’s icing.

Having travelled thru’

hell’s symptoms

following a recommended

flue inoculation

arms and legs feel like lead.

The first snow across

Place de Juif

had vanished overnight

people crisscross the square

as usual.

One visitor enters the

exhibition ‘Augen-Blicke’

looking for a postcards

of exhibited photographs.

B phones: ‘When are you back?’

Lily enters to call on Mrs I.R.

T phones you to contact

an honorary guest who had

indicated to him to visit the


some comment about

of being too narrative

questioning the value for art.

You draw your inner world’s

tohuwabohu of emotions.

C’est ca!









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