Pushing down the permanent snow line,
cold snouts of glaciers shoved forests flat,
heaved earth and trimmed rock over grasslands,
mounted moraines over murdered dominions.

You and I were born in a flash off winter’s mirror,
a single sweat drop of time. Safe in our
temperate spell, we deny the rimed flume’s return,
the bitter flow bearing a slow, single measure.

Frosty eons will lid green nature’s x’d eyes
as Earth rolls on arctic bed, snugging up ice sheets
and coiling fervid dreams, plotting an age without us.
For now, we restrain blizzards of blank space.

Intertwined, our thermal columns rise,
aloof to smoking cold air and all icy threats
of solar withdrawal. Flesh ablaze in our cirque,
we live in this molten moment where Earth,
at its roiling iron core, knows no seasons.

2010 Furnace Review

© 2018 by Randall Compton.