Winter King

Winter King 

Blowing his icy breath 

over dust of our dust, 

Winter wakes atop his 

glacier. He chases us

and desolates our town, 

     now, reduced to ice. 

Homes no longer have 

numbers, and our 

lanes have no signs.

He despises our ghosts 

and won't be joyful if any 

survive until May. Every

     thing may reappear 

when Spring blesses us

and Konvalinka bloom 

     over our graves.

[mythopoeia]

Winter King 

Mein Flügel ist zum Schwung

Is it His words you desire,

          His icy breath?

Dust of our dust spared

          because the Winter King

loves this glacier He sleeps atop?

          He hates the carpenter

as much as He hates

          our angel. Desolation,

His crow that chases us

          throughout the city,

reduced to ashes,

          our homes no longer

have numbers,

          and our streets have no signs

nor do our lanes.

          If His crow resumes,

we will have no lovers left.

          Konvalinka could bloom

over our graves

          this month. He will never

be joyful if we

          survive this May,

if our angel blesses us.

          Even our ghosts He despises.

If His crow 

          could eat them,

          everything else

          might disappear. 

[first version]