(Poem) ice ages by Barbara Mor

ice ages

we walk in the ice age.  our hairy bodies

alive among rock foreheads, subliminal

animals of snow.  colors of caves leak thru

buildings, the skin’s murals unfaded, with elk

leaping over the wrist, bison in the corner of

the eye.  down this street, the mastodon and

tiger, their eyes glint as blue windows, a

luxury in their glacial paws descending slopes

and eons of winter.  sexual caves, with moss and

oil, and a soft nakedness of dancing.  women of

lightning discover fire, heat.  those who bleed

etch the moon on bone.  wind howls in a bear’s

mouth, the snow falls everywhere.  someone

crouches alone and dreams of earth as a white

body, wounded with vulvas, that are not sad

but miraculous.  everywhere one looks, the deer,

the bison, the wolf, the tiger, the dreamer also,

are walking, shining, out of red wounds in

the snow.

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