This morning the world was white
White sky, white land, white road.
Often I disappeared into white.
A little past noon the snow stopped;
Clear sky, black road, normal world,
And driving was upward toward blue,
Then over the peak and the grey fog,
Deep, and the grey road was all.
As night came,
Black mist froze on my windshield
And the black grief began.
Tonight, in the latest version of the
Familiar room -
I paint without colors.