Who owns the sky
that writhes like giants' intestines,
disgorging pellets, grains and beads
that strip the foliage from trees,
flail parks and streets, and ricochet
from roofs to lie in gleaming heaps?
Who owns the hail?
The earth on which it rests
and into which it seeps?
The grass that drinks it gratefully?
The ice-maiden a shaman keeps
like Snow White in a frigid casket,
dreaming of the moon,
her visage swathed in freezing sheets,
awaiting cryogenesis?
The ways of ice
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105060400330
Свидетельство о публикации №105060400330
Рецензии