Avalanche

The chisel makes tick soundsshrapneling ice, notes passing time.I’m not sure if I’m digging,carving, or sculpting. Landslidessmooth architecture bracingonce breathing bodies, stopped clocks.The alchemy is unique across bodies.Some hold terror like a batonin a relay race, and pass it on.Some hold terror like a force-feeding.Pathogens are neutralwhen frozen. Here I am,heated and unlocking—threading dust to blood—the work of raising the dead.