Fire and Ice
A blood red sunset kindles icicle’s
into dripping scalpels.
As the light decamps and flares,
flickering impressions drift.
Shadows mime shadows.
There is a shape, a hanging man
imprinted on a tree trunk.
The silhouette flex’s,
head lolling, arms stretching
in the long reach of evening.
Ice crystals flame
only to die
under the heels of darkness.
I shudder,
as my noose twists in a night wind.
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