visions_version_iii

few days ago last year
stood standing face
to an allusion of sun
till the wet throne froze
overnight from wave to white
there on top
waiting for ten to drop solid
tears and booms and cracks
the river talks of depth and death
walking from edge to back
listening to the ice
decide blue or oranger black eyes
perched on a line
still set
die in the wind

cold open
forever beholden