As the wind races over
The contours of my body,
My ears freeze up as if
Being embalmed with nitrogen.
The wind is running rampant,
But, has no real destiny.
It lives to caress me like
An eager, excited lover.
The wind gives me the kind of chills that could break
The thickest of frost riddled ponds.
Ice begins to glaze across my neck,
Giving me brainfreeze like
After eating a slushee.
A raven swoops by and croaks out
What sounds like a mating call.
Another smaller raven gives chase
As they rendezvous with a third raven up into the clouds.
The wind begins to pick up its’ momentum.
Where in the hell is this damned bus?
I’m about to turn into an ice cube out here.
Wait, here it comes…
Excuse me while I put my pen on ice.
© Mauricio Rincon 1994