In Pours the Snow

It pours from clouds, my eyes and temples glaze.
The wind a swell of snow that coats my face,
a logic rife with cold, indifferent,

unfrozen, melting water dripping down.

A rill that wets my lips and chin to fuel

responses, feeding freshly breathing thoughts,

as crowded round my Basin they appear -

to rust its iron-rimmed foundation.

My fervor wrapped in frozen sweat, a warmth

derived from rocky till.  The gravel laid

beneath my feet, ground's counterpoint to snow;

Its endless lack of heat, desire.  The rill

of moisture meets my neck, I shiver,

but smile, hollow space's intercessor.