Between the branches on the beech
She sees a star and shivers.
She gathers in her dressing gown
And closes tight the curtains.
The floor is cold, the room is poised,
A creaking board the single sound
Besides the tinnitus which whines.
Outside the wind is dying down.
Her eyes are heavy, full of sleep.
She stands and waits for thoughts to break
The pounding of the still.
The clock, which stopped a while ago,
Restates the time when timing ceased.
She bows her head and shuts her eyes.