Written by: Colin Amato

Footprints along whiteness 
crunch, crunch goes
snuffed loneliness, slowly 
making its way along a 
snail-way path 
to more bleak 
emptiness. The flakes 
descend upon the black back 
slowly drifting and then 
gently falling back onto 
the whiteness. This cycle 
on perpetual Void, nothing 
upon nothing, mounting 
into a Cyclone. The board 
is blank, the canvas plain, 
the jug that is empty.
Waiting to be filled, waiting 
to be drawn, waiting to 
be painted, waiting to be written 
waiting alone in this void, 
crunching along whiteness.