I dreamt of ice last night.
Not an avalanche,
But in cubes of measured square.
A heavy tinkle sound,
Like faulty bells of frozen water.
And then a snowman
came to mind.
He troweled and shoveled snow
High against my bed.
We shared a drifting passion.
Him, in circled snow dust.
And I, astir,
In then out of cold.
I remember now.
I am so late
For the date of completion
I'm snowed under.
It is an avalanche, after all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem