the frozen spine

freeze
no flow
not a river
but a jagged
crusted thing
entrusted
with a darkness
a cold blue sting
no place for sound
or the ground
or the earth trying
not to be seen
or heard
crying

cracks form
in the spine
when the weight
has gone on
too long
while the trees
that bend low
bear witness
set an example
the ice cannot follow
it’s hollow

tomorrow now
and the fire
in the air rages
and stages
a fightback
runs screaming
down a new track
then stops
and thinks
how best to attack

the heat
hovers low
takes in the slow
ugly flow

the ball of fire rises
despises that frozen spine
and there is
fear
and there is
love
shimmering up
from the hot earth
mixing and bubbling
bringing rumours
of a new birth

who heard that?
who can ever hear
when the daggers of ice
melt?
and yet
when it’s all gone
the land remembers
how it felt

before the water
trickled then flowed
the light in the
heart of the sky showed
darkness

and in a black sky
the light clusters
the temperature falls
and the land musters
all it’s strength
and tenses
because it senses
that come morning
the rising light
will be a warning

the ice will not shiver
it will not bend
it won’t break
it will melt
and from the water
a river make

horizon dreaming

am i thinking
only of realities
of the here and now
of what is
of what was
the constraints
the complaints
the colours of paints
because
it’s all i can see?

am i thinking
only of possibilities
of what-might-be’s
of flowers that
flatten cars
of what i might draw
from the arc of the stars
becauseit’s all i can see?

either way
i’m stuck
right here and
right then
congestion in the question
that keeps coming
again

when?

when will i change
short-circuit the fear
allow empathy n anger
to tip-toe so near
it leads to action?

but the connections
need mending
a thorough blending
of what is and
what might be
till a messy soup
sustains us
and we see
we are real and
we are possible