Life is snow.
Uyghurian
On a winter morning in Takoma,
I wake up to fresh snow,
The silence of the sky calmed the noise of my nightmare.
“Snow has merit,” I said to myself.
I touched the snowflakes, and they melted.
I lost the only good sign of the day.
It disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
It left traces. It left a memory.
Maybe life is like snow.
It comes with good signs and will not stay with us.