We walk a steep and slippery way,
Mixing senses is synesthesia’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, times gone by,
I walk along a steep and slippery way.

Winter seeps me into sleep, as my soul flies,
The 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, I know, can paralyse my heart and eyes,
I wake to sleep and take my waking home with me.

Some seek salvation with all their senses stripped away
Others watch as skies fade back to a kipper-grey,
An 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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