Fear of Life

The chill air cracks

all along 

the fissures of our

torrid skin.

Walking

under the lamps at dawn,

drawn to them

and to you.

Their  radiance

more utterly alone 

than a north star,

and this city,

exhaled

out of the crisp night.

I need this

frozen naked morning,

these pained cheeks,

to feel the fevered

pulse

deep beneath

the shafts of your palm.

Bridge over a glass river,

shards of the

migrating winter;

how easily we could

fall through

to the floating lights

that have already reached us.

Why do we crave

these perpetual dawns,

frigid to our return

and our steadfast palms?

Knowing futility,

we’ll entwine ourselves,

against this onslaught,

this collapse of

glaciers,

rivers of increasing hoarfrost.

These things,

my dear,

gouge far deeper

into the earth’s despondent

soul.

There’s a glow

nestling in our

brittle hands,

and distant barges,

travel ahead of us,

strung with lanterns,

tracing catastrophes.

Under the lamps

footsteps echo

like distress calls

shattering silent canals.

Our bodies,

ablaze to the fear of life,

roar and roar,

melting ice peninsulas.

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