Adrift


the ice is broken
frosted fingers fractured
into shapeless splinters
by the crashing seas

fragments of the sculptured floes
plunge into wind-slanted waves
forming shifting shadows
that tease and torment 

our blood becomes cold iron
as the stealthy breeze draws 
all heat and desire away
stilling even our thoughts

Feathery whirls of snow
turn to piercing needles
that lash our bare flesh
as the mocking wind stings our eyes

we search the clouds -- in vain
for the soft marbled sky
with its misty tones of misery
holds no hope of reprieve

we dream of delicious warmth
but wake to the same despair
and the only end in sight 
is our own
 

c. 3/5/09, B. Riley