Return

Although difficult, I am pleased to have returned to this frozen
landscape, the horizon jagged with stone knives and sealed off
from all the world,
the sky a high-resolution diaspora of violet and
ship-iron grey -
though cold, though difficult, these lands are familiar;
unforgiving and ever-treacherous, the quiet and sense of
foreboding is, in a word, welcome.
Welcome in a way those abandoned palm trees and sands might
never be, as here -
the warmth and orange glow of Sol has no place,
no sway, understanding that these poisoned sentiments and
entropic ideas lead only to damnation, as here -
One might escape them, the concepts and notions found in these
wintry lands as pure as the untouched permafrost,
an understanding amidst both the rare man who finds himself
here and the rocks, trees and skies that nothing found here
might ever be removed, as nothing from without may ever enter. -
the only crossing between these worlds is the vessel of
the body, only the mind and memory permitted to steal
and pillage, each man welcome to whatever truths he might find.
I haven't found mine yet, but pick in hand and iron-boot on foot -
I mean to.