Just Beyond

I imagine you waiting out there—

just beyond the farthest hill,

even though obvious

at these temperatures,

frost bite assured in ten minutes,

hypothermia soon after.

I set off anyways—

knowing I’ve only imagined

you out there,

tucked away, warm,

beyond that last ridge

waiting for me.

Bleak and Dire

That I could be rooted

as the grasses and the trees

that endure these dire

winter extremes

not in their exposed

skyward extremities,

but instead through

the intertwined networks

extending deep beneath

the frost line, where all

remains untouched

by the vicissitudes

of artic cold snap

and blizzards blowing.