Cold Embrace

Standing

in the

brutal air

of a blizzard,

I think,

longingly,

how

unexpectedly

fortunate

the flakes are

to have fallen

where you sit,

caressing you

as they descend.

Startled,

I look down

to find myself

standing

in a pool of water;

the snow has melted.

Firestone Friday: Poem XII

I think we’re drawn

into cold, unilluminated humans

because we believe there is

— there has to be —

something greater

unseen beyond

that shadowy veil,

something

inestimable,

protected,

inaccessible.

So, our imaginations

run unchained:

the more unyielding

the object of desire,

the more alluring,

the more opulent,

we fashion the world

that must flourish within them.

And we scale the walls,

taking daily pains

to climb a little farther,

until we crest the edge,

only to find a flickering street lamp

suspended above a littered lot,

with Sadism leaned up against a rusted barrel,

taking a long drag of her cigarette

and picking at old scabs.