I am the sky’s teeth, standing where the raw ice surrounds my cries.
Glaciers crush truth, drifts of silence rip children from their beds.
The night has a death-wind; its storm cracks the bone of my heart.
A pure red nectar rolls from the fissure;
crimson rivulets gel and spread, slow across the white expanses.

I am the moon’s circle, the light that makes the silver witness.
Comets destroy themselves like suitors against the Sun’s pressure.
She is the bullseye that but one green force will strike.
My eye, alone here, amongst the graves.
Rocking like grasses, tended by the distance of unseen stars.