I walk a steep and slippery way,
Mixing senses in synaesthesia’s way,
It seems as if I am a chorus in a play
We feel by measures, hidden from the eye;
Time is borrowed, blue days wasted, time slips by.

I walk along a steep and scattered way.
Winter seeps me into sleep, now my soul flies,
To compose this gist of an art,
Unborrowed from time or tide;
I learn by going, where I have to go, inside.

Dark holds imagination in thrall,
Fear reverberates terror that, I know,
can paralyse mind and soul
Impulses frozen,not melting like the snow,
I wake to sleep and take my waking home with me..

Some seek with all their senses stripped away
Others watch as skies fade to a kipper-grey,
An ever-changing melding of night and day.
I seek to shake off this edifice of days,
Time falls away from me as the wise woman prays,
She dreams to take her waking slow...
Mingles prayers, with softly falling snow.