Shudders and Gutters

Cedar trees sway with the weight of ice and
snow blown by stage whispers and raging wind.
Branches break and scatter like splinters
before the rattling cough of aging winters.
And shivering we cluster together in a loose
band like arrows quivering on the back of God
waiting to be touched by rough hands
and drawn for war.
We stand staring at the steam of our breaths
shaking off the cold and the dreams of our deaths.

Icicles rain down from grey heavens
stinging like fingers of fire reaching
down to teach people like us a lesson.
Cautious words spoken like a blessing bourne
on winds of wisdom digging through thick coats
and into the skin
searing like guilt through souls too thin.
We never heed the warnings of winter coming,
for some reason. Lovers shiver under
bare-branched trees but feeling warm
in spite of the season.
They whisper while the sky empties
snow and ice across the frozen landscape.
Until spring comes and hearts are broken
there is no escape:
The wind picks up speed, gusts,
like hungry hands nibbling at us, pushing us,
like touches from someone we no longer trust.
And when we are finally home
stripping off wet clothes in front of the fireplace,
if we are not careful,
we may find our true selves lying somewhere beneath
those
clothes,
like the land lying beneath the snow.
Someone mutters from a drunk delirium:
"Something's broken..."
      and just like that
           we snap
like the brittle branches that
break under the weight
of too much ice.

12.4.2002