We are caught in
the calm between fronts,
The window of waiting
As the wind shifts poles.
The boots are still
Marching,
Marking the retreat
Of glaciers,
Great sheets of
Ice surrendering
Passively,
Permanently.
Spinning wheels
Of wind and
And water
Follow the front lines,
Ensuring the invasion
Persists.
We have had flashing neon
Warnings,
Countless last chances,
And we let them
All slip
Away,
One melting drop
At a time.
Categories: Poetry