The things we find in old notebooks..

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The biting cold of pure solitude,
like a drug, to numb the soul,
All hurt, all pains, all fears subside,
before the crisp, clean bite of cold

I invoke the ice, deep cold to guard
the inward heart, by means of permafrost
How deep the wound? How deep the chill?
To kill the agonies of loss

And as I brood in spires of ice
Bathing in the biting cold
I wonder, as the chill enraptures
How deep this silence? What sins unfold?

Harsh winter of exile shall shrive the soul!
And deepest solitude shall cleanse,
But the ice internal hurts and heals
How long to mend? How good my ends?

Imprisoned in utter loss, like bars of ice
To hold me in my solitude of frost unmarred
I'm still alone, this time around
Alone on ice, and under stars.