It is black and white again, spotlights and confetti,
honors and regrets, winter. It is for this I live.
I sing to the stuttering TV of November 1963,
a girl my age, and her younger brother saluting the death parade.
One dies. Another will be reborn. The house is surrounded
by leafless trees. But o how the light in winter shines.
Note: I am relieved at the outcome of the U.S. presidential election, with some hope restored. But like most joys, it is mixed with shadows, and I feel melancholy. This is not a bad thing. "Sorrow wears, grief tears, melancholy soothes." I keep saying to myself, "Be the change you want to see ..." It's up to me, you see.