It is a beast that he chases, that chases him Motion to a moment of stillness Silence, the flakes kiss his lips, and graze the lashes Wind shears west to east White blankets, a breath is taken Trees are lines between these lines Limbs have been broken They still dangle limply in the wind Shadows play with what they have The branches give under the weight of it all He looks again, and there’s another set of prints It’s gaining speed and so shall he He never turns back once He knows if he does he will be caught For this he has never seen it And pray he never will He never sees it coming Yet this scene repeats itself In a sequence of that existence