Under Ice

On the edge of the earth

I feel that galaxy

rotating, turning

how it must really be,

while my hands press

up from under

the glass–

The ever splendor light

tries to melt us

our fingers

to pierce through darkness

once more–

I am cold

very cold

that I no longer shiver

but am waiting

waiting for a voice

to take me back

from my frozen slumber

a stillness

in a breathless dream

where inaudible sounds

of children and families

run and laugh, talking

in a far away place

on a silent hill

of green

and frosty desperation

where the dream-catcher

of earth


every last piece of life

from a bountiful tulip

to a fallen red leaf

once from a maple tree

now, all coated

and covered

imprisoned and preserved

to hold life tranquil

and one day

pressing forward

it will crack.

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