I Saw a Storm of Ice and Stone

I saw a storm of Ice and Stone, Curling North the footed hill; From which grows the cold and bone, Beholden to whom the beggars kill. The ashen clouds above the alabaster- A sieve to the dense and wet- Hurls itself upon a pastor Who preaches that which isn't yet. I saw a wyrm, or an armless slither, Bubble from the preacher's mouth. It curled in smoke into the weather Which had boiled to the South. Lest the East of orchid hue, Eclipsed by this tempest's crest. In neon strips, atramentous blue; I waited, watching, in the West. The spin of stone and thick of ice, Had eyes for that beneath its gale. It at last approached, to name its price, And returned my gaze with orbs of scale. Their pupil slits, Bright stalactites, Hung in sable ink of iris; Claimed my sight, without a fight, Traded for words scrawled on blood papyrus.