Monday, March 29, 2010

STRAGGLERS

The roughened barrier of skin stops the cold
and the blood continues to drip
through scant sums of flesh, numb thought
the frozen earth begrudges air.

Use has exhausted the abandoned plains.
We trudge across their pillowed sheen
like the remnant of a scattered army
struggling with diminished strength

to forestall embrace by ice.  
The sky runs its factory of heat
at such great remove only a trickle escapes
to warm the garnets set in our chests.

These are the tiny transmitters of feeling
our bodies herded to recover.
The breath you can see is a thin blanket
for the seed-bearing sleep of forms.

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