Richard Schnap

Silence seems louder in winter,
When the hissing of passing cars
Seems distant, as if transmitted

From some far off place, a faint soundtrack
To the delicate film of falling snowflakes.
It is now when the deepest dreams,

The ones whispered in the frozen night,
Settle upon us in this seasonal state
Of suspended animation, where we

Are spellbound, straining to remember
What was, as we wait under the grey sky,
Listening for the signs of awakening.