The night slides against my skin As I lay Hand raised Palm pressed to the headstone Above my head. It is bitter cold, but there is no snow Otherwise I would not be here Drifting along the ground Like a breath of wind It’s come to me like a dream As I lay Hand raised Palm pressed to the past I let die It is damp here. The air is saturated by The tears that have been shed here I do not cry. I’ve passed that A very long time ago This is the ending of a season As I lay Hand raised Palm pressed to the future Of us all The wind has picked up and is howling I seem not to have noticed just when Winter cradles Spring, it is true But it is not ready to let it go Just yet. I begin to call out to the Spring Come, now! But, Words are Snatched from my mouth By the wind Tossed As if I never spoke at all. The night slides across my skin As I lay Lost.Weary. Among the tireless here Below my head. It is bitter cold, but there is no snow. Otherwise, I would not be here.