Snow cuts across the rise and fall of building tops
on the horizon of our condo balcony window.
Gray, bleak, dark, cold.
Thoughts cut to the ebb and flow of the sunlit waves
on the horizon of Puerto Vallarta Mexican beaches.
Golden, bright, sunny, hot.
Steam cuts through the flapping wings of the pigeons perching
on the horizon of chimney tops in my winter window view.
Smoky, steamy, misty, warm.
Memories cut between the years of life now passed, now passing
on the horizon of of my aging, fragile mind.
Fleeting, joyful, painful, comforting.