We walk a steep and slippery way,
mixing senses in synaesthesia’s way,
it seem as if I am a chorus in a play.

We feel by measures hidden from the eye
time borrowed, days wasted, life goes by,
I  walk along a steep and scattered way.

Winter seeps me into sleep, as my soul flies
to the gist of an art unborrowed from the eye;
I learn by going, where I have to go, inside.

Dark holds imagination in thrall, fear reverberates
into a terror that, I know, can paralyse you,
I wake to sleep then take my waking home with me.

Some seek with all their senses stripped away
others watch as skies fade to a kippery-grey,
how I love the ever-changing melding of night and day.

I seek to shake off this edifice of days.
time falls away, as the wise woman prays
she dreams to take her waking slow

mingles prayers with softly falling snow.

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