- I dedicate this to all my incredible friends who have shared the rigors and wonders of Niwot Ridge with me.
Oh Western Wind that cuts through fancy clothes
If only just to rest against my skin.
The beard-cicles that hang from leaky nose
Are frosty heaven's gates: now come on in.
My flesh, which once was warm, now beckons thee
To enter every crevice, crack, and crease
In my fine garb, expensive yes indeed
Yet willing to allow your sharp caress
To enter, join my lonely soul, my fleece
The blanket for our lovemaking. I feed
On your attention in excess.
Face masked, face chapped by your shuriken kiss,
Sweet breath, you hurl this blowing snow along
My reddened nose, small tender bites of bliss.
In aching eardrums lives your siren's song,
Oh spawn of heaven! Give this tundra plain
The gift of symphony, of strident strings
To bring our blustered minds serenity.
Remove my excess particles of brain!
So oft consumed by mundane, silly things,
No thought but you, no hot obscenity.
A blessed whiteout gives us time alone
Please give me guidance, lost I am this morn!
Into prostration I am roughly blown
And clearly see: my pants crotch has been shorn!
And though you blew my jacket-down away,
And tried to steal my hat and lunch and gloves,
And nipped with frost my nose and fingertips,
I know your fickle flow prefers to play.
So let us sail this arctic breeze like doves
Until once more I taste your icy lips.
Forevermore I crack ajar my fridge,
I'll long for thee, oh Wind of Niwot Ridge.