short day full of movements, momentum,
while the sun barely shines with it pale near-winter-solstice light,
i am a lone fish weaving through
constellation connections of faraway thoughts and people,
icy clear stream of lights against black depthless vast sky.
like the lightest smallest snowflake outside,
i am hanging, moving,
as the wind takes me.
the grande pause, just after a big cadence,
a small stepping stone before a new movement's start,
murky water slowly settling down the finest mud,
i am learning to wait,
savouring every bits of my thoughts,
the whirlwind of love, wishes, wants,
of things that i suck on with dry mouth,
like real dark cacao.
smallest squares, staining not only the tongue,
but of the heart, bittersweet,
to the ends of my capillaries.
feeling each grain of such beauty against my mouth,
i am permeated by the stillness of the night,
in the midst of festive pub,
air saturated joie de vivre,
i take the first step, a winterreise-
...Bellt mich nur fort, ihr wachen Hunde,
Laßt mich nicht ruh'n in der Schlummerstunde!
Ich bin zu Ende mit allen Träumen.
Was will ich unter den Schläfern säumen?
(from lieder im dorfe, winterreise, schubert-muller)