The icy river glides away,
In it, scattered, glints the sun,
Trickling out of a mountain,
Enveloping it all in a piercing yellow.
Yet it is serene;
No birds or music,
Just a glazing chill
Tickled by golden heat.
A time ago it was stronger,
Warmth filled the rushing river as if it were a spring,
Overwhelming yet not boiled nor burned,
A perfect, sleepy, tender mist.
But then, it decayed,
First mild, then to an acrid, consuming, cold,
Through which no ray could cut, until
The glimmering sun distracted the frosty river into serenity.
Now, perhaps, as the sun is eaten by the riviera,
As it stretches in passionate, auburn glory over the winding body,
The glistening surface might trick the unmelted ice.
But that's all, nothing changed. For this sun, it's time for goodbye.
This night, as glimmering fades to twinkling,
The river does not sleep. There's hope that
The chill will fade, feeling will return.
And as a new glow sprays the sky,
The icy surface shines as he weeps.
