Winter Idolatry

Beneath the quivering ice
I lie.

Green filmy eyes gaze up
at an indifferent sun,
too far from me
to melt my winter prison.

My hair twists and twirls between the beckoning weeds.
The brown fish whisper their secrets into my bloated ear.
My blackened fingers caress the searing ice,
while above
snowflakes, those frozen stars,
fall, disenchanted.

And still I watch him, my golden calf,
who jilted and left me trapped.
When he returns, I will burst forth
through stabbing shards of silver,
monstrously beautiful,
to greet him with wild adulation,
or else vengeful deicide.