As the ice digs in
you will subside;
you will creak
in the starsheen glass of night;
your love will lapse,
slowly paralyzed.

And as the dust wears on
down into your very skin,
behind you in lethargic prayers,
within your throat
like rust -
parched - brothers you will grind
your bones into the sky,
barely drawing air
behind that smile
which, watered down, still shines.

If you can gasp against
the stream -
fields of thrashing grey -
I beseech
you dear
to hold
your breath -
untangle yourself -
in this deluge of salt
there is something divine
to be found
out above -
if only
you could teach
the sparrow
to breathe.

As the ice digs in
around your bones again
will you crawl awake -
half reluctantly -
from your cherry-blossom sleep
to glimspe a ripe-drenched world?
Brothers, you will break
upon your dust-caked feet -
dissolving into wisps of blue.

Time has followed you,
while, grey with unsung dreams,
you shrugged up to the trees,
and spoke of hate and pain -
sipping fluid night,
like fuel into your veins.