Risk

The words left out of the poem, they are frightened. (Yiannis Ritsos) 

A turmeric moon rises above the arctic horizon 
speeding through its low-hanging arc 
frosting and brightening as it climbs 

I settle into calming promises of hearth 
wrapped in the weighted blanket of the known world 
late harvest wine seeping through my ambition 

Outside, black river currents run below the ice 
starmelt drips from the sky  
and the firefox beckons 
her emerald tail a trail through the heavens 

A discourse of light awaits 
but the sharp shock of winter’s slippery veil 
looms, a deterrent to illumination 

A dilemma posed: 
to remain ensconced  
or  
to traverse the delta’s brittle crystalline crust 
and enter a wilderness of words not yet uttered.