On a winter eve,
beside a frozen tree
I sat, waiting
for absolution (that would never come)
A half-frozen
rivulet lay before me
Calling me to
shed the skin and freeze the heart
But I am not
ready,
I am not ready
yet
A short-lived
light beam scattered at the touchdown
Feeding the
silver of saintly fish
It fed me too
with angst and fury
Calling me to
burn my life and light the world
But I am not
ready,
I am not ready
yet.
