Winter dreams Do you believe there is still a song for you and me? What incantation will resound, softly, when the barrel organs of child and dogs and daily routines fall silent? In the dead of night, which names will we mumble, silently, to our own auricles and hearts? In winter dreams a plank door outing towards a plane of snow, footsteps leading away, re-enters memory – my usual haunt. Where I wait for you to come plodding back through the cold high white. Crystalized water, that much I know for a fact. Waking into a glum bedroom I think of my day walks, gales exhaling a smack in the face, a hushed melody fading somewhere in the back of my mind. And of that dream cabin. I do believe there’s still a song for you in me. I need you to help me serenade it right. For now, my incantation is the rough solitude of bark and leaves, of walks in woods and winter wind. Sven Kretzschmar
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