Meltwater

 Horizon frozen to pieces, impossibly
 bright shards underfoot, serrated
 flowers pinned to skin. Every step,
 every breath lets the cold cut deep.

 How'd you wrestle with these phantoms?

 To become as mud and gravel,
 wash away with the February rains,
 meld into fog, disappear
 from the map of responsibility:

 A relief, never the cure.