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my moving form
makes ugly knots in the wind
many long fingers bent in pain
the meadow, slick and sewn with frost,
ruined as my footsteps crush webs
into the marble

i curse myself and the warm steam curls
the moon's gaze is broken as i pass

and my shadow starves the moss of light
a sharp branch scrapes my cheek
pierced and stunned i frailly ask
was debt repaid?
slowly i am spurned
the branch had snapped

in the clearing light is low
and lower near the sulking brush

i lay down my things
i would bleed into the earth
if it would not break the silence

i would enter the ground if it would not make it warm

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