The Old Kingdom has fallen:
only a few pyramids of snow
remain, stained dark as sloe,
snowcapped with pollen.
The person I was in winter
is gone, a bare bough
budding to green, a brow
untroubled by the splinters
from a crown of thorns -
no, wrong myth. Maybe Icarus,
except the father had cirrhosis,
died, and the son mourns
as the wing wax renders
from spring's merciless splendor.
Apr 28
Apr 28, 2026 at 8:35 AM UTC
The Old Kingdom has fallen:
only a few pyramids of snow
remain, stained dark as sloe,
snowcapped with pollen.
The person I was in winter
is gone, a bare bough
budding to green, a brow
untroubled by the splinters
from a crown of thorns -
no, wrong myth. Maybe Icarus,
except the father had cirrhosis,
died, and the son mourns
as the wing wax renders
from spring's merciless splendor.
