Dichotomy
The scorpion stung
as the Dalai Lama prayed.
This was their nature.
No Wood to Burn
Lungs burning cold
with frozen breathlessness.
Bodies, of all ages,
frostbitten and worn,
huddle beneath tattered star quilts,
hugging one another
and their wormy mongrels.
Seeking warmth,
wearing a mask of icy death.
{Poetry by Daniel G. Snethen}
1 comment:
No Wood to Burn: Underneath their worn star quilts huddle homoeothermic man and dog democratically but futilely sharing precious warmth; upon this quilt presses the unbearable weight of certain death. Description suggests to me a not uncommon winter scene of Pre-Columbian America
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