I guess I don't get it and that's fine,
The rumblings, the gestures,
The contact...it's all alien,
What lies beneath the icewall is visible yet I can't pry in.
I can't get to the other side.
All to be is passive,
All to do is stomach the ride.

open door ; icewall
                   crusted as a rabid eye
                   all the change of skin in frost
                   a bedouin of snow,

consider the end;
                  white room; stiff starch
                  the soft slide of slippers
                  along linoleum

winter's partner ; a slower cold