First Snow

The first snow I saw this year was in a cemetery.

An old, abandoned cemetery.  

The small, barely perceptible flakes fell, 

Bitter as any of the old graves, 

Alone, forever.  

Soon the stones will be wiped clean from existence, 

But now they crumble, quiet and discreet in their ambiguity.  

The blank and quiet innocence of those quantities of granite and marble, 

Sidling into infinity, cold and dark.  

Numb, endless. 

For eternity.