There’s a rhythm to the ice

That’s sent in by the tide

A song befuddled by a beat

Complex – is cast aside

The music hides within a wall

Cast up upon the shores

By northeast storms – carcophanies

Of shouts and cries and roars

The sun – still low at mid day tries

To warm the iron ledge

Ice has balanced nervously

Soothing drops along the edge

Like flint upon the western shore

The maestro raised his bow

Hardens rivulets like teeth

The Wolf Moons howl is long and low