Iceberg (Poetry)

I am the iceberg two-thirds hidden
none imagine what’s beneath —
love long-frozen, dreams forbidden —
deep preserves of frigid grief.

The third that shows is past all guessing —
clear the dearth of welcome heat —
I float at odds with life and stressing
why old ends no longer meet.

My island’s numb — in thrall to winter —
every breath a crack that runs
through thin ice that dare not splinter —
born immune to midnight sun’s

sly forgery of weakling kisses
that failed to warm or blush the skin —
nothing counts what sorrow misses
or the time lost wondering...

More years iced-in and crystal-hearted
the future’s page turned brittle white
the sentence chill and too-long started —
there’s no release — no thaw in sight.