Walking through an icicle forest, touching it's brevity
in sights of melting drops, falling to the ground.
Coldness surrounding visions, giving them crystal-clear
clarity as I watch them slowly thaw in thought.
Feeling the aloofness keep me just out of reach of
another's touch.
Reality watching through frosted windows of winter's solace,
taking the time needed to continue withdrawing from life's
edges and falling asleep in an icicle tomb deep in an
interior icicle forest of bluened crystals, forming around
my heart.
Taking me firmly and gently into depths of winter snowdrifts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem