Cold Religion

Bright

They fall in

wide flakes of antimony

melting on your outstretched tongue.

They gift a pleasant sort of numbness to 

your tense anatomy: the kind you 

know you earned.

Later, it will

feel like 

a thousand tiny 

bright needles as life is

granted reentry by the undone clasps

hugging skintight boots.

But now, 

breathe in the

generous cold; accept her

reward. Shake the snow off your

fiberglass limbs. Give thanks

to the colors that cut

sharp, intoxicating

lines into the 

skin of 

The Mountain.