I took the long march into winter,
Turning snow into ice
And glass into sand.
Losing the touch beneath the milky white cast
Coating my broken hand.

I'm tending to towers made out of

Building blocks,
Cemented with papier-mâché
And crystallized honey;
Corroded like battery acid;
And washed with the deepest shades of blue.
Cerulean, like the sea

Where I have locked secrets in glaciers
Awaiting global warming to drown out the hues,
But it's World War III met with an ice age.
Capsizing on the curtains bleeding from the walls
Building them on frozen plates,
And waiting for meat to thaw.