the incessant chill in my house
is deafening . its poison engulfs my thoughts
accumulating in the back of my mind
collecting like dust in the cracks
it erodes my soul






I stand in a treeless field with no path
no compass.
only the brown grass, 
bending under the weight of the still falling snow,
filling my tracks as I wander


the pallor of the landscape
a soundless, majestic dessert.
the colourless sky,
indiscernible from the country,
has lost her horizon in grey


the whole dome of heaven
is one winter cloud 
shrouding the sun, 
detaching her warmth
the hour is late
my fingers grow numb 
I feel my heart slow
I feel my thoughts slow
I sink into snow


etcetera