Mountain in Winter

White ground, and white sky / / / And white trees, and white light.
Hiking along the path of a mountain’s ridge. . .

Twisted branches hang like misshapen cages; bird-prisoners
sing their little laments inside / / / And it is so cold.

Through a shudder in the ground due to rockfall, ice crystals
plummet down /// too far down to hear them shatter. . .

The air—musically glimmers up here / / / far far above sea level
(here, being the sea’s unknown cousin that many of us have).

There’s a giant arch up ahead; no, say a holy portal, transcendent
through which heaven powers through / / / Come night:

yellow lights hesitantly blink in the city below / / / And it is so cold.


Fred Melnyczuk is a writer based in Scotland. He’s had poems and prose published/forthcoming in several places throughout the UK and elsewhere, including The Poetry Review, Poetry Salzburg Review, and The London Magazine, and has just completed an MLitt Creative Writing at the University of Glasgow