Frost

The dawn rises over the forest; the sun
awakens the frost and it disappears.
The dawn rises over the river; the water
inspects the light and it doesn’t measure up.
The grandeur of the ice is gone as it mixes
with the life-blood of civilisation.
Well there’s nothing we can do to protect you now.
My hands knead the ground – the ash and loam encase
my fingers. The soil is frozen still, but the
ice is gone.

The sunlight coaxes seedlings from the earth;
and with leafy heads, they survey the wasteland surrounds.
The sunlight shows the truth of a landscape; the chocolate
coloured soil fights the tangle of vegetation that refused to die.
The seedlings have a long way to grow and not much time –
for soon the moon will rise and the ice will set in again.
Well there’s nothing we can do to protect them now.
My hands salute the hellish moon, and I prepare
for the death that comes in the darkness. The soil
is no longer frozen, but the ice will come again.