photo by author.

of ice complex.

sonnet.

of ice complex, the massive signpost said;
or that reversed, in fact; i stand behind
a real-estate facade, where wild vines
across a vacant lot in riot spread.
these words, reverberating through my head
as evening falls, send tendrils through my mind;
cicada-song repeats, sunlight declines,
the hemisphere rolls into dusk; instead
of turning home, i’m frozen in my tracks
and baffled how these frost-bit buds might bloom.
i don’t know what i seek, what would suffice;
a broken sign at dusk, seen from the back -
why aren’t i heading back up to my room?
my only thoughts of ice, of ice, of ice.

alex guenther. recent interview here and book here.