From the cracked crust of the world,
In the kingdom of frost fire,
I trace the edges of order and anarchy,
Where glaciers rise like forgotten kings,
Their faces scored with age,
Their spires vanish into the storm.
Here, the blizzard bird soars,
Its wings are torn from cloud stuff,
Its cries a hymn of dissonance and harmony—
The sound of a world dissolving
And remaking itself in the same breath.
It knows the places between worlds,
Where silence hums in shades of blue
And the echoes of Ice Age dreams linger.
There, on the tundra’s brittle skin,
A story unfolds in the language of frost:
Of starlight strung between shadows,
Of waters rising to swallow memories whole.
I see the descent of the bird,
A bright shard against the gathering dusk,
Diving into the heart of the storm,
And I follow, aching for emergence.
The snow whispers truths
That bones alone can feel—
The edge of life’s triumphs:
A sapling clawing through permafrost,
The last sigh of a dying glacier,
The first drip of meltwater
Turning ice into flow,
Stasis into motion.
Bird of the blizzard,
Carry me to those distant places,
To the juncture where fading meets rebirth.
Show me the map of your moving,
Each feather is a line of wonder.
Let us chase the shadowed blue of memory,
Until the winds unravel,
Until the earth breathes warmth again,
Until the song of starlight
Fills the silence.
