Ice persists in nooks and crevices in early spring. Snowfields may not melt for years.
Deep in furrows
ice clings to winter
where April shadows water-seeps
waiting for June's melt.
Should spring ne'er come —
to high-peak snowbanks
lingering from year to year,
to traces of life that lie in wait
in dark bleak reaches of the Void,
like them, will we hold on?
Whence then your sun
and when —
when will you come to soften stiffened hearts,
these scars of frost and drought
the sleeping landscape of our thoughts?
When you waken them,
© Copyright 2021 Kåre Enga [178.40] (13.april.2021)
20 lines free verse