The wind is a tormented mosquito
blowing frustrated gusts
and sustained whistles
through the window panes
like the sleet of yesterday
prickled the heating vents
in leaf-crackling steps
that break the peace
of a wished-upon silence
into a broken mirror
shattered and split
a million pieces that
pierce the jungle floor while
a white-faced eskimo
with layers to keep it warm
is a broken flush
a royal red river
of split teeth
jagged from the subzero chill
icicles for extremities
held close to the torso
like a freshly frozen mummy
laid down to rest
in the comforts of a coffin
an antique tundra
frostbitten feet make stumps
not to a limp but a royal penguin waddle
the long journey ahead
a shrinking ideal
the polar dunes in its eyes
filling up space
blocking out the hope to thaw
deep deep stuttering breaths
falling from the nose
out-of-commission pipes
on their last legs of freedom
a much delayed harmony
sputtering in the open
knees on the surface
heartbeat waning to a hush
almost to a stop
but the last line of scent
picks up a rise of temperature
the used-to-be ice
that now is not
that now is steam
from utopian hell
that promises to heal
and return the toes
return the limbs to flexible form
a hot-spring offering
to soften the worries
repair the smiles
restore the blood
a dive into burning
to end the mosquito
turned away—defeated for now