Always approaching, but simultaneously moving away, she couldn’t quite make sense of it | and the only way she could resolve its mystery was to say | “Oh, it’s over”, and to think of something else | She thought: It’s a cold day, so snow forms and falls || She wasn’t satisfied and, at that time, the nature of her dissatisfaction had the essential vulnerability of a living heart, which could never linger over a beat, or it would stop; it was also like a piece of music, which must go on, or else, in an instant, turn to silence

It’s a cold day, so snow forms and falls | Out in the country, the world will get hushed as the snow lies | The wind will drop, it will grow very still, and under the blue sky, in the quietness, the landscape will seem to achieve a kind of perfection | They say it’s very difficult to find two snowflakes that are exactly the same | Aren’t they like moments?

from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)