It is winter, slow, solid and frozen.
Cold metal feels harder to the touch
As though frost and ice have become solid
And will no longer return to their realm.
As though water realised its dream
Of rock, hardness and permanence,
No longer dragged by gravity, moon and tide,
Always falling and falling down
While hard rock looked disdainfully on
From its high solid peaks
That so easily shrug off the passing time
And reach beyond clouds to the sky.