in a time of fireclouds and ancient glacial melt,
what we need is ice:
a tempest of composure.
since we’ve always know
a lie and we can weatherwork
with our emotions:
and the incessant need
of pendants to set the world on fire
(see where it’s gotten us)
with our ice of clarity, our tintinabulation
of ice bells, striking chords from stalactites
of anger that have tightened
to harp weft and harpsichord tune.
we are tiger tines in ice caves teething out as musical crystals
of snow music rechilling the biomes
with our measured breath puffs
as wind mages in map corners of yore.
this is where the fury
from the many and sundry violations of this age
comes in handy, is the ice medicine the earth requires.
stop playing with your sticks and kindling, boys;
it’s time for fancier tricks, dancier licks at ice guitars,
turning molten anger to new clarity caves whose acoustics
carry melodies of re-formation to restructure what was almost lost.
not a time for heedless fire of feckless lightning,
a time for alignment and steeling, restructuring to core.
our emanating wholeness re-coheres the music of the spheres
within the world waters. it can make us whole.