Words decay as faint echoes within an abandoned building blanketed in snow...an homage to the dead.
The threads loosen--an image torn from its frame.
A severed hand encased in ice.
Light drips from time’s broken jaw like honey wine and spoiled milk.
Like a long cry in the darkness never to be heard.
A stone platform drips blood, suspended in blue firmament and refracting light to numb earth--livening dead soil.
It thaws and becomes green.
Swallowed by time.
Frozen in history.