Life On the Floe - 1
I had lived on the ice-floe for about a year
My world had become absolutely geometric---
everything within my vision was linear.
And the whiteness had taken me past the point of madness.
Learning the language of the wetness of the wind,
of a smell in the air,
(there are no shadows on the floe),
and, beneath my feet, the ride of this frozen crust on the sea.
Nights come when the wind rages, roars, and screams in my face.
I sit, solid as I can, and face it, best I can,
trying to keep a hold on myself to the ground
Knowing if I think about it, my mind will tether its hooks to the thought
and that one little jerk in my synapse will be like my body
as the wind jerks me up and (blows) (blasts) me into the sea.
Thoughts on the floe become spare.
Feeling is frozen and Truth has become solid,
the mass of it being the very essence of the ice beneath my feet.
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