garden in snow

snow sings under feet

how's been your day,
how's been the world
did you find the magic
or did you find it's corners

i'd tell you: you are mistaken
but it's funny this way
I am wrong too
chuckle and giggle
everything is dead
but not in here and now

there is tea with cinnamon sticks
there is candle light and the cottage
well, you can see it in a lot of ways
but inside is definetely different than outside

put your heart, your hell, your dreams and your worst
in the cupboard by the door
put your bones and ropes by the table,
down in the bed leave the rest
there is a bin in the corner
for words said and unsaid
smile
(hold tight of your skin and wish)
((reverse))
the wood whispers and wind crackles
a trill of ice and fire
not really, it is what life makes of it
the paper bleeds throughout their everything
the secrets, the blankets, the time and the wine
delicious nonsense and all the sense there is to be had

hail in the window brings me to my senses
and points drop and fill into words or into the floor
their garden in the middle of oblivion
and i take another sip of the tea, i wonder.