#of ice

Under wingbeats, love becomes boreal, captive on the ice queen’s staircase while her ghost ship captain flounders.

White wolves at his heels in dreams, love's fair as an angelic poker game. Once he went spear-fishing, his lyrics

ground by the glass lake; now he keeps singing, limbs and fingers prey to frostbite. The vivid maws on those wolves gape.

And he climbs into her room, backsliding, sees himself behind her eyes, vital, falls and takes hold of her waist, her thigh,

falls harder. Shatters. Love lies strewn in fragments. Love dies and is resurrected as gaps in ice, cut for the sustenance