Like threading mountain path on moonless night,
Or swimming far from shore in harvest moon.
Like bargaining against the fairy might,
Or bray in hinterland at night alone.

Like morning dew licked from mountain pine,
Or running feet on sunny morning beach,
Like wintry nights with fur and sweet mulled wine,
Or snuggled sleep beyond the wakeful reach.

Like knowing death will come to claim loved ones,
Or watching broken dreams turn scrape and dust,
Like liquid joy in life of sandy dunes,
Or taking knife and leaving blood and rust.

And I pen words of peril, ease, and gloom,
So, I could experience them from my room.