| 1) December Days | | | | Her throat, breathing out cloudbanks... |
| (In Minnesota) | | | | Breathing out cloudbanks of carbon-dioxide-; |
| The sky, defused with a pale cold mist, it puts | | | | Soon she'll walkthrough these doors |
| on-. | | | | A smile on her face, a huge and a kiss... |
| The Sun peeks -up, as it rides Libra, proudly, | | | | A chilled wind, still on her cheeks, adjusting to the |
| down. | | | | Warm air of the café...woops, here she |
| The birds don't sing at dawn (anymore)-gone | | | | comes |
| south. | | | | (7:15 PM), "Coffee or tea," I say... |
| The white pure snows cover all (liken to glistening | | | | (she's just smiling). |
| flow'rs.) | | | | #957/ 12-10-05 Dedicated to Rosa |
| Precious are those longing moments of early | | | | Peñaloza-Siluk |
| hours-; | | | | 3) Cold Spell |
| Youthful barbs singing, chanting, in the back of my | | | | [In Minnesota] |
| head: | | | | While the snow smothers the hazy winter ice, |
| Celebrating winter's cold days ahead. | | | | I stay up watching by the window until midnight |
| #958 12/11/06 | | | | What else can I do...there must be something! |
| 2) Waiting at the Café-bookstore | | | | My loving wife is fast asleep! Half the night |
| (Minnesota Winter) | | | | Around my computer I write, think: how long |
| The moon seems to be frozen in the Eastern | | | | How long, will this cold spell last!... |
| sky, | | | | #952 12/9/05 |
| High over head, in the dead of winter | | | | 4) Winter Edges |
| Sitting in this Café waiting for my wife- | | | | The air is fogy. It is early winter |
| The snowy events of Minnesota, sees from its | | | | The moon is passing through my body. |
| place | | | | That which made it misty is gone. |
| In the heavenly sky (not so far from my home), | | | | (At 6:30 PM, everything is dark;at 9:00 PM, Ill be |
| Sees-my wife leave the Post Office... | | | | gone.) |
| In this cloudless cold night, waiting on the bus-stop | | | | Winter is going to sleep I think, |
| (s) | | | | Waiting for morning, Eastward, bound. |
| High overhead wisps cold and frost, against | | | | That which made it misty is gone. |