1.31.2014

20 below. stop and the cold
presses Her lips to your 
fingertips, draws out
a little bit of your soul
with her teeth. She's been
doing this your whole
life you realize but here
among the winds and their long zeros
the hoodooed trees
and rime ice stacked like daggers
you feel Her at your ear
and there are no
lies, no trying on your eulogy
for fun, no shiteating thumbs
up for a camera, it's just
you and Her and everything
that still matters about your life
this world something sweet
on your tongue all of the pending kisses
waiting for you in another
more reasonable place
a green blade of grass, a duck
slapping wings on open water
lovemaking, the soft miracle of a bed and roof
the walls of your skin your house & 
this safe nation you are fortunate
to live in, strange how everything
becomes possible, beautiful
even rubbish, mediocrity
in this harrowing down
between Being Here and Not Being Here
ice-glaze on your goggles
breath freezing shut your eyelids
the col broomed of its snow 
by the artistic wind
summit glinting like Olympus, too frigid
to relieve yourself let alone dance--
the question is not
if you will  return to earth
(for you likely will, you have
not come to this world
without the necessary talismans,
the requisite respect), but rather
how far down the mountain 
you will carry the truth.