Great Lake Shore in Winter
by D.R. James
The concentric silences of phantom
isolation splash unscented across
caked ice—expanse framed by violent but
muted thundering of the congealed. Edge
of weather razors faces, encircles
eyelids, and its grimace arcs like light's blue
sigh. Still, one's stitched tongue bawls outward in a
brawling prayer, in bottled shouts to the wind,
and names all the luxury gathered here.
Here, one's peace fronts one's own ferocity.
first published in Backchannels