My soul knows not what colour to be.
That is just what this is,
though, no more than that can be this,
it cannot be that.
These are my thoughts
as, to build upon myself,
I trudge through drifting snow, thick like fog.
My white sneakers step into water
sliding down the street in delicate sheets,
draw a curving path
from where I was, to where I was,
to where I am.