Icebergs

Some poems are like icebergs
calving from the glacier that
flows from birth to death, memories
frozen within its cyanotic depth,
sometimes clear, sometimes
smeared with love, lust,
jealousy, desire, antipathy,
ambivalence, all crystallized in
immobile splendour, all unique,
all right and wrong, all destined to
drip away into an ocean no more
salty for all the tears.