The ice leaps, and the day
Withers to the lesser
The silence is formless,
Simplified, quietude. I long
For clamor and complexity
Tumult and loquacity,
For words and voices
To absorb me.
The ice compresses
Air, liquid, matter
Into unrelenting
Hoary auspices of the
Migration of glaciation
And perceived permanence
Of the polar ice,
The accordance
Of that significance
One and the same.
While the ice leaps, and the day
Withers to the lesser, the cold
Matrix of silence and ice
Bonds together
Without change but yet an opening
Drives me
To without myself
To where I stand apart
The only exchange
The silent rabble of the day
Withering to the lesser
And steaming breath.
NOTES: After Christmas, I drank the dregs of the leftover wine and let the silence, the ice, and my own aloneness overwhelm me.
4 comments:
Well it sounds like it was a good combination of wine and winter mood. I really like this.
susan @ spinning
Thanks susan. Just don't ask me to explain ice leaping without the bribery of a few glasses of wine.
Roberta,
I love it,,the timing is perfect, the weather begs for it. From my view, the river is starting to freeze over, everything is cold and silent and lonely. I think I'll have some wine.
matty, you make chilled spirits happy. (pun intended)
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