The frozen lattice of snowy sheets liquifies.
Drops drip, trickles merge
Torrents accelerate, careening out of control
Tumbling at last, rumbling flow.

The lumbering thaw
Hibernation breaks.

How long has it been this time?
Laid bare, were his trunk cut cross
Rings of growth would register
Not but half lives
Of radioactive decay
A body ravaged, desolate, over-exposed,

Raise your head, Ursa.
Tilt your head back
Let the tortuous stalactite’s forehead drip
That monotonous, repetitive slap
Between your brows
Become that which begins
To quench your thirst.

Your hands are not tied by anything
But your haunted mind.

Will the streams be full
Of succulence still?
Or has it been too long?

Has Man made abundance scarce
For more than just you?

Oh, the hunger for the nectar of life.
To be warmed, sated, stretched, held.

Was it a dream?

I saw my Soul through the haze
Gazing through a maze
Of sheets of ice
Like warped, cracked glass.

She could not see me.
Not clearly.
Nor I her, I suppose, fully.

Screams and pleas gathered armor and barbs
As they burst forth upon the world
On sensitive beloved ears
From the walls of this hidden tomb.

Memories dampened and muffled by
The accumulation of Time
Sculpted, edited, corrupted
By the machinations of Man.

Will she be waiting in the meadow
By the stream? Illuminated by
Sunbeam or the Moon?
Will she not remember me?

Or will these remaining days be
Nothing more than living the
Stark reminder
Of endless missed opportunities?
Whiplash from a shaking head
Tear ducts run dry
And only porridge to quell what
Yearns to feast on blood?

Strangers passing so near, time and again,
Yet passing, still, one another
Through this twisted, dark, eternal Night.

We will find each other, someday.
It cannot be any other way.
The yearning will never cease or subside
For those such as we.

She said her weight was too heavy for me
Oh, the tragic irony.

As this Winter of lifeless, numb antiquity
Comes, at long last, to Spring
What seed, if any, shall bloom?