for Antarctica and her rebel wind
She never sleeps deep, REM sleep.
No. She tosses and turns, cannot lie still
with bones and blood at ease, always keeps one eye
open. The wind might stir at any time
touch her cold white skin, travel
every willing curve and contour. She hears him
long before he comes without warning
his hands trace her upper valleys, her mountains and hanging glaciers
travel her frozen coastline. She anticipates him
as the beloved awaits a lover. There's nothing silent
or passive about them. And when all is said and done
they both know their meeting will shake them
it always does
but see, it's nothing more than temporary dishevelment.
Theirs is a relationship refined
by this curiously lyrical insistence.