In the storm take paths

laid out by others or risk

falls on unseen ice

Sick of blank stares at

her bon mots, she pined for the 

beau monde's resurgence  

Turn up the volume

like you used to do and get

lost in the music

The snow, crystalline 

white, clings to the bleak branch and

prays there is no sun 

Liminal space is

only unlimited in  

dream's geometry 

The tiny flame

gutters out unable to 

hold on against hate

Walk the razor's edge 

too dull to deal with shadows

from just five o'clock