After The Snow Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(tongues of grass in air)

(i)

Tapered green
spears
of tongues licking
dry, dry air.

Hot with cold
and blowing
cold
into parched coldness,

breezes
heating skin with ice.

And stuck-out
blades of grass shoot
out their tongues
for a kiss of air.

Rolling frozen cobwebs
over taupe earth's
icy cold
mouth of winter,

sitting on snow-covered
tufts of grass.

The lime grasses
are drying up
under showered rays
of sun

parching a canopy
of undergrowth.

(ii)

And a sandy thatched
mat of earth rolled out

to hold the roots
of grasses growing hairs
and breaking threads.

Clinging in vain
with every breath
to their dying green hue.

O lime ants of grass
crawling
in their new blood-shot
gold coats

along carpets of lawn
stitched and woven
into a crawling lime rug
of rib and basket

weaves, grasses holding
snow powder and dust

in a cold hearth
of glowing silver coals
in ashes of snow

ignited by wind into cream
smoldering fire
of a silvery, alabaster hue:

Are these winter's tongues
of shooting flames
from a fire
of cold ice blocks

burning with half-glowing
match sticks
feeding cigarettes
from mouths without motor

to crank up words
for chats from dry tongues.

(iii)

O rusty pearl piece
of silver air
rolled over
sprawling lawns,

light green crawling ants
of grass with little blood.

But their tibial spurs
and stings
flip out teeth above tongues
from lips of grass
to bite spidery air

with little flesh
for deep digging kisses
on rolling lovers' backs
without spines.

Under a winter's sun-lit
morning lovers
roll on creeping tongues
of grass stinging them,
cold the only fire.