the gathering
on most surfaces (inuit)
The frost hits me in the eye and wakes me these are blury winters and I cannot see I walk into the white light of the snow when the sun comes I break it with my shadow which tales me where I go The frost hits me in the eye and wakes me I am the snow falling down on you I tear up your face with my frost And make you run to somewhere warm When I come I see you get away I burst out about your emptyness The frost hits me in the eye and wakes me these are blury winters.