Millennia ago, there were
details
engraved in this ice:
a proud brow above
hooking nose and
benevolent lips.
Slender fingers
gripping colder-
than-steel
saber, one
tapered digit
lifted to point
always
in the direction of a
temple, now
ruins.
Even the most
frozen tundra
warms over time
small degrees until
beads of water,
dripping scalpels,
carve away at
snow-flesh in
less than careful
slices. Existence
barrels ever
onwards, headless
of loss as,
eventually, all
memory
is obscured.