Daytime At Midnight: A Memory Of Maine | Early Prose Poem by Ana Maria Alma Delafuente

Can you hear that?
Can you HEAR that?

It is the sound of snowflakes falling to the earth.
It is the sound of almost nothing at all.

Shhh…listen.
Can you hear that?
My eyes see no one about.

This is quite strange.

It is as if the whole world has fallen
into silent sleep.

There is not a thing to be heard aside from soft flakes of snow
descending in vertical lines from the heavens to the ground.
It appears to be daytime,

yet it is twelve o’clock at night.

The whole sky is bright with light.
It must be the moon singing to these flakes of snow,
and in turn

they magnify her song to me.