Snowblind

Capabilities I traded
Some marshland moons ago,
No safeguard now for faculties,
My soul beneath the snow.

Snow-blind winter mirage,
Mistaking those colourless plains;
Snow is her own camouflage,
I misspoke her forty names.

Forty words for snow misspelt,
Fall from unknown heights,
Crystalline, and each unique,
To drift with inner blight.

I carried her lumen inside me
Throughout an adult’s candle-flux;
They scoured the lakeside vainly,
An isthmus village’s populous.

Wearing bear and beaver furs,
Who sought to revive my life,
Bitter friends, beloved strangers,
My heart’s beneath the ice.

On the lonely lake I conspired
To seal the eternal fate,
O lovely lake of long-lost summers
Now endlessly frozen in place.

Choose your moments wisely
For sacrifice found me and plight,
Resuscitation, love, is fruitless,
When death’s disguised as life.

Spirit Lake

Her lifeless body he hauled on the lake,
The shape is frozen, snowflakes shrouding,
The silence of the ice resounding,
Where Saffron Cod and Trout will shake

Legends of graves from their fins.
At this time of year, progress is slow
For the hunters of cougars in blinding snow
And braces of ptarmigan skins.

The cairn-stones said that Time
Lacks consequence for the dead,
But then there’s much the cairns have said
Which would not reach a hunter’s rhyme.

For with diligence of seasons,
And bare bones of detective seargents’
Marriages, the mountains mirror argents
Where sheer whites bite with lesions

He was thwarted by the thawing sheet.
Secrets return to shores I have seen,
Despite exertions, and ballast being keen,
The past and future splinter and meet.

Unageing, fixed by photographs,
Friends and family remember remarks;
You resurface when a dream disembarks
And deceives, seemingly sending telegraphs,

Sometimes it is hard to tell
Whether you speak of where you are now,
Or if the mind with withered bough
Deceives between its health and hell.

Afterlife, he makes that journey every day,
Lugging the load of himself on his pelt
To where the ice-sheet starts to melt,
And we are on our way.

Homeward Bound

Hurry homeward, through centuries of snow
To your home, your candles are now lighted,
And the trees are all benighted
By stars Silver and Green aglow.

The tablecloth returned to its table,
The berries are various goldens,
And moulting Moonlight emboldens
The mantel with candles and stable.

There is a way that parts,
Where all that’s good might end,
Where the river of time cannot bend,
As the infinite softness of snow might overthrow the hearts

Of trees and sedge; so I too succumbed,
Fell through eternities of snow-laden trees,
Punishment for crimes without release.
The tips of the trees thumbed

My stomach but could not have me saved,
Nor could the snow below save me,
Nor could all the children of the forest save me,
Their falling father. The falling was engraved

In his heart, until landing at this table,
Prepared with poinsettia for the seasons,
Healed for the lady of the forest’s reasons,
Beneath the icicles on the gable.

There is a way that parts,
Where all that’s good might end,
Where the river of time cannot bend,
But not within these winters’ hearts.