Boreal is the feel.................................

Of north blown off course.
The slivers of remaining ice
That cling to the tongue
Of words not said
But felt.

No spring thaw can force
The ice cycles where she combed
Her hair and wrung
The last of frigid water
On the chair
Where knelt
A child
Self styled

Gone forever
In the rills of vendetta.

Goodnight.
From Letty with love.