This is an ocean of dimpled ice
These are rocks that do not sink
They come back to our hands

To come back to your heads

There are more of those rocks 
Where we stand

We are trying to correct this imbalance

That is a fire between us
Which is a small fire

But this time it is not 
Consuming one of us
Who chose to go up
As bundles of leaves and bones

You black things with sticks 
Will be spilled out
Onto this wet

That is a mirror for the wet sky
That is not a map

No comments: