Thunder waits within these walls,
blue millennia of unspoken words
holding their wrath
yet softly speaking of loss
in the Spring melt.
Bygone bite of icy tongue:
exposed scars,
open wounds,
the wake of years
imprisoned beneath its bulk.
Beyond, engraved on the rocks
icy fingerprints
are exposed
in the retreat.
A small tongue
licks the lake
beneath.
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