Icicles

 

Icicles

The tickle of icicles

dripping down my neck

between parka hood and hair

comes back sixty years later

in a place with no icicles

dripping or otherwise.

In this land of relentless

sunshine and drought

trickling icicles bespeak

exile, loneliness,

a thirst that is never

slaked.

Filed under: Musings