These are the times when seas
Are flicker-black and silver white;
The icy gears of time and colour
Whir, click and gyre
Inside my head and out –
I hear them, feel them slip, miss,
Come alive on this, the least-light day
Of calendar’s small, moon-ruled patterns.
Horizon birthed skyline is a slow bonfire
Between present-grey and lack of clarity.
Did nature bring the reflective
Stillnesses of winter?
Or did we invent them?