the greyscale city is a frozen desert tonight:
you walk under stars that don't show and
paths that won't go where they're meant.
it's not so easy.
it's not like following a subway map to nowhere.
all you ever hear is 'follow your heart' and coffee-stained maps
echo in reverie and ring untrue
all you ever hear is too far off to catch.

well your heart is screaming supposed truths
in a language you forgot you knew
drowned out by the iPod of the man at your left
and the ringing tones of every stop.
they quiver off-key and make your toes curl each time
'till you cross the yellow line and what's more, ignore:
every newsprint transfer lying in every gutter
every story you could ever, ever imagine
a whole forest (falling, and nobody listens, and it makes no sound...)
unlike the chained trees along the sidewalk every so often
a whole forest is rotting in rainwater.

but you're late –

the clocks tick and hands turn and you're skimming over thin ice
think of bear-prints and snow-falls and ungloved skin
all flushed with frost and step carefully now
(through woodland and forests and bus-tickets waiting to be made
and the concrete guidelines of a city outlaid)
one at a time; one to a life
all leaping and twirling on the thinnest of ice.