Glacier

It is the time for ice, and oh, the torment.
Pinned, helpless, its body crawls over mine
And I splinter. This is slow destruction.
My peaks dark-tipped, glistening under
The rime of frost, glistening in the cold,
Pale light that offers no warmth.

My breath would fog, were I able to draw it,
And my torso twist, were that control mine.
But I am captive beneath the sliding weight
Of cold without mercy, guiding hand
A random thing but certain, sliding, grinding,
Relentless on its downward path.

Each crevice has become a pool, bowls
Of flesh turned lake, seeking the cracks
That lead into me, to trap the heat
Coiling deep inside. I tremble and they,
They tremble too, body shaking, earth
Quaking as the glacier moves on.