The ice cracks in the otherwise empty glass
waking you from daylight reverie,
startled by the way air speaks to water.
The melting seems like sinking and
you find some small lesson there.
Staring at the clock or the phone
you feel the moment break over
the skull of expectation, what is not
suddenly harder and heavier than
anything that is. This ache,
that settles like snow before winter,
that settles like air over ice,
bears the full weight of the arrhythmic
beating of blood stained wings,
the heart bludgeoning its own native tongue.