For so far the sun lifts the snow.
The cables; the light and whitened eyes,
weeping spine, and tied quite loose
are ribs held in envy for they rattle,
and in their sack they shudder.
Eyes they burn with the sun. Go fast,
go high. For maybe the glades or an
avalanche may be better for the fear.
May be better, for so far the sun lifts
the snow. The cables; cold and hushed
are light are grand. Greater than the
heat of chains and chanting and
somehow heard a sound that comes
from the snow, brittle, basks and falls.
The sack, burlap shakes and the
car in front takes a bow.