A word of advice

When continents of
black ice close in

and, pressed against the wall
of your cave, you succumb

to the darkening embrace
of your very own Ice Age:



Hold on till a ray
of the newborn old sun

slants in at the mouth of the cave
and, like a latter-day Stanley,

shakes your pale hand with a smile
of triumphant exhaustion.

Relief, it will say, is at hand
just around the next berg.

But, hey – watch it
as you stumble half-blind into thin light:

the polar bears are famished
and you don’t know where

beneath that smooth white expanse
the abyss is getting ready

to pounce.

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