Man and mist and fog and dog;
my winter-of-the-heart hideaway,
I stop, wake and sleep again.
Clouds disguise this fall
into the past,
as surely as the grave obeys
the rule of days. 

Everyday, this sheer cliff path
crumbles, just  a little more.
Listen! as these screeched warnings of the gulls,
echo through this thin air.
Seeing you there shimmering,
glistening, as all light fades.