In taking in the passage and the pain I find
maybe time isn't time but just being still and alive
and movement is movement only if there's light
and the desire to run towards the night.
Does this make sense?

And I know in the dark there are monsters fair
whose laughter and love keep me warm, keep me bare
The touch of their skin, their fur on my legs, is all;
who needs more? In the dark I have it all.
That's the world for me.

There are others, yes, they come and they go.
The world of light and sharp which is the one
I can discuss with words concepts and sounds.
It's bullshit, my friend, it's a brain game, maths;
I'm not very good at it.

I had a dream where the snow was warm
and full of burrows where children had fled...
Each tunnel a road to a safe secret hole and
happiness and contentment in each little womb.
That was wonderful.

Does this correlate?