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Each hour
the cold
blood brings to our hearts
freezes us as the river
of time to the last glaciers
when the foam of the seas
turns to stone.
In the desert
of the frozen sky itself
if only you could sustain in its descent
any old star
and in its warmth dissolve enough snow
for the single tear
our death asks for.
Stripped bare of affection ~ ice will have to be unthawed to provide a single tear.
Hauntingly desolate expression of a cold existence; not looking for much upon eventual death, at most, perhaps a tear.