Out in the Cold

Antartica, resting place of sailing ice,
why is your harbour within my heart?
and your ships, like shifting dew,
with cold tongues, lick the morning air;

The howling blizzard bears down on me,
flapping my garment in its wailing turn -

Chilling, biting, blinding my sight,
melting my happiness with cold warmth.


Penguins gaze at me in pity,
their white bellies like polished ice,
around and about, I peer through their numbers,
hoping to catch the sun's yellow eye -

I pray the sun would leave her nest
and shed on me tears of fire,

To dissolve the water-rocks that embalm my heart
and grant me the peace of a heavenly choir.


When will my lips cease to quiver
from the embrace of this sunless room
and my frozen hand beat my turgid heart
to break the icicles that fill its roof -

Another anchor is let down; one more ship is docking,
adding a sober merchandise to my overflowing stack

Antartica, resting place of sailing ice,
why is your harbour within my heart.