The wind is blowing from far away,

Heavy-ton clouds butt the houses with drizzle and spray.

My parcel of space is shrinking so small,

And the diameter narrows for a leap or a fall.

Again, no snow fell in the winter's keep,

On New Year’s Day the same old man was born from sleep.

With newfound hope, he continues his flight,

Not noticing underfoot his own tracks in the night.

And in the crosshairs aligned

Of his own expectation,

Hiding his frozen frame

Under the covers, he dreams in stagnation.

And the grey sky

Of the grey city

Devours my heart,

Howling with hunger — no pity.