Avalanche Preoccupied

I think I get it: You want me to swallow your acidic avalanche. Those billion frantic snow globes of brilliant-clownish confusion. You want me to rebuild your burned-out shrines. Atop broken blue glacial climbs. Straddle boulders of swaybacked hope and jagged stones of regret. You wish me to inhale the barbs of shadows and the velocity of your death. You want me to embrace the fire of your ID. With paper arms and gasoline fingertips, lasso your run-away mind. Make a bouquet of roses from a wall of rock and ice. I know you'll get this: I can't embrace your avalanche, while I'm digging out from beneath my own.