Almost there. This is the land of ash and cold, doubt, apathy, uncertainty. But where had I come from? The east. Maybe the sky, the earth, the water. Yes, the water.

Almost there, yes, now I’ve seen it. The Spider Tree, the old which tree, witch tree, rising straight into the sky, an expression of rage at the earth. No, you can’t escape the earth, there is no escaping.

My blade, straight, sharp, like the horizon, like the hatred of the cruelest heartbreak, but this is a heart unbroken, never. Never broken, never used, unbroken, buried like a talent, like unimaginable wealth.

All the way in, like a locket, but not locked, not a treasure easily open. Prayer beads that smell like gasoline. What is wrong with me? Cutting into the tree, it’s wrong to take a life but no life is taken here, not in the land of ash and cold and frost, there is no life here, only ash, only hatred, only cold and hatred. Only . . . my heart’s desire.

Alabaster wings of a dove, they fly overhead to spy my treachery. It’s too soon, they say, no life in winter, don’t kill the life that’s hidden here. They don’t know, they don’t know me, they only know the sky, I didn’t come from the sky. I came from the void.

Gutting, cutting, cutting, scraping, hating, loving, I am the sculptor, I am the hunter, I am the lover of life. I am the creator of things, the light in the darkness, I am nothing, I came from the water, hate is just another form of love. Grace, generous, gone like the heat from the world.

Hue of silence, hem of life, heat of desire insatiable. Getting closer now, closer to home, closer to light, closer to the end of the cold . . .

Mesmerized, let me hold you, let me feel the heat and warmth, beating like a drum, beating like creation, beating like destruction, let me hold you just this once . . .

Wind, sickness, guilt. Silence, nothingness, emptiness, frozen in time, frozen forever. I can feel it no longer, why did I come? No life in winter, no life in winter, gray roses, gray skies, this is the land of ash and cold.