yes you could choose to mourn or
masturbate the difference away - to a place
where shibboleths suffer, suffocate and succumb
to their fear of the snow
or slide like the soft smell of a bitter wood secretly sleeping
in its alpine womb
yes, you could trap this
sleepy wisp and sell it,
tell it to dust your rear-view-mirror blues
with its provocative greens, dark-greens and other hues
but can you sell me
this silence in a spraycan too?