No way to keep warm in this deepest, darkest winter
What is the mystery in our minds and hearts that only we know?
How deeply did I love? Or so I thought
A sort of cold wave of the abyss sweeps over me
That smiling, gaping chasm that stares back,
That offers no messages or consolation
If you could speak to me, what would you say?
Hard not to burn up like falling stars
We were awake in the garden at dawn
Around the nave of St. Paul’s Cathedral and the whispering girl from Scotland
No compass or roadmap back


© 2009 eric blaisdell