Salt Water’s Wraiths
The snow that hits Alantic waves is lost.
The flakes give up their six-point shapes and souls.
They lose their lives. A frosty Pentecost
Does not redeem with icy tongues. The poles,
Both north and south, condemn the frozen stars
To breakers and to billows. Calvin bangs
Predestinated crystals. No memoirs
Are written. Flakes are not allowed brief pangs,
Not even that. They disappear. That’s all.
If hail falls, mixed in with these deaths, its ghost
Is even less, much shorter than the squall.
Chill corpses wash up on a god-like coast.
Non-Arctic raindrops disappear as well.
They plink near silently in wet depth hell.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Apr 10, 2025 | PR |