Along the lines, some blazes from the ice-locked river.
This is the roof of the globe, silence.
I sit on an overturned boat pulled up on shore.
Swallow the silence potion turning slowly.
A will stretches out endlessly.
He's turning, the harbors here is nearly motionless.
Some motion further out steps in the snow,
words that begin to slide past building fronts.
The winding traffic from the highways,
and the soundless traffic of the dead returning.
Further out, tragic masks facing the wind.
The roar of high speed still further out,
a rushing where the last words of love evaporate,
water drops that creep slowly along the steel wings.
Profiles shouting, the empty earphones clashing
against each other, kamikaze.
The ice locked river glitters and the silent.
Shadows lie deep here having no voice.
My steps here were explosions in the field,
with silence now paints over and paints over.