You’ll find me, dancing
Through the cycle of the seasons,
Between the salt-laced fold of oceans
At the edge of Reason’s grip
Where in the gentle darkness;
Beside the flames licking the firewood
A whisper grows, a yearning turns
The blood to honeyed-wine
Then I’ll seek the giddy silence
That spikes the music, with its notes
Of melting snow, begging
For the burnt touch of the stars