The Space Between

the ice is dripping
and the world is in the place in-between
cold water is kicked up my leg.
the grass shines with frost and melt;
somewhere between the earth and a river

the mud is chunky and cold.
the world is in the place in-between
my parents:
one is the sun, the thaw,
the melt, the change and the
coming green through wilt.
the other is permafrost.
the solidity
the support
the crunch underfoot
the silence
and the unbending rigidity.
the world is in the place in-between
and I am forcibly a part of it;
I must walk the trails
with snow still in their corners,
I must live between the parents,
in the night he freezes
and at noon she shines

the world is in the place in-between
it is yawning
it is waking
its breathing is hoarse
as the mucus of old seasons passes
I follow the trailing wind of its breath
to the mouth,
it is dark
and the source of the water
that streams and courses and
builds in slushy places.
the world is in the place in-between
and its teeth are weaning icecicles
the drops have no permanence;
they fall on the steaming tongue
and run away.
the world is in the place in-between
and I am carried in its mouth
I slide down the lightless throat
as it stands
and swallows
and cold water is kicked up my leg

the world is in the place in-between
and I hear that the sun beats down
but my mother sun is beaten.
the frost makes spikes of ice
and hard, cold fingernails
the wind that blows
and pushes
and shuts the clouds
over my skin.