Tectonic Glacierbreak

Her sky is ire, without a seam. Her law is winter.

Her voice, the stream that carves the stone and names the

flaw. I am the lake, gripped in the thaw.

That never comes my surface glass. A perfect stillness for her to pass

and judge the depth she'll never know. The pressure building deep and

slow. Beneath the permafrost, the fault lines grown. The silent tectonics,

the blood and bone. She walks the shore and names the ice piece.

While every glacier inside me shears and ceases. I mapped her tempis,