reflections in late winter


with only its frozen blocks�looking manufactured by men

and scattered by men, standing on end and randomly strewn�

to break up the frigid monotony of its fa�ade,

finally, the stark sea of ice gave way.


small patches of dark, frozen earth,

having made their long journey

through the desolation of winter, dare to show their faces

from behind their blinding-white shield.


sky, clouds, moon, and time pass over

impassively disinterested in the hardened, barren mud.

they are content to feel the cold reflection of the light

that passed them warm on its way down.


the stillness of ice yields to patches of snow and near-dead earth,

then to vast landscapes of brown and green,

and to the living, scintillating sapphire of the ocean.

but the earth left behind remains frozen, stubborn and unyielding in its cold shell.


o� sun, resign not your post, your burning labor,

abandoning the unchanged as immutable.





back to poemmes frites     back to hellhed