poem

I’ve never been so happy.
In my whitewashed world of grey and green
The trees aren’t trees
But curvy underlines, rising slowly up

I am on my back
Suspended, spread,
Afloat
One snowflake among many

I can feel the kids sledding
Sliding downhill and laughing
Rubbing from my head
To my toes

The snowflakes hit me
From all sides,
Slowly being buried
As my body collects more and more

And somewhere
Not too far away
You collect your own snowflakes.
I wonder, will we play together someday?