Wind blows through the gate of the ice castle.
Enameled are the eaves with milky snow,
Transparent candles drop pendulous tears, and I
Hunger for restoration, roasted sweet potatoes in my pockets
A man sprinkles salt on the stairs like a dutiful farmer.
Fogged and unduly broken, I drop a rose into the crevice.
My lips shudder from the meteoric love of all things unspoken.
Breath to breath, from birth to death
The golden endurance of a pilgrim soul
To the twilight of m’rrow.

I inflame my white flag, my unhinged, defeated soul.
In the gyring moment, the pang of birth,
I pierce myself with a blade, your Poetry,
Calling the prayer with a kingly tread.
Caress me gently, Teacher, for I bombard my paltry existence
For a mission of loving sadness.
Nymphs danced between the birches on a pile of snow,
And I sit to breathe the scars of memories.