Impossible black hook taunts the dancing metacarpals.
Slow.
Numb as the cold bites in and turns red to blue.
Help is asked for and granted.
Cold fire as the hook laughs.
A break.
Teeth flash in surprise and the cold swallows the sound.
Grateful eyes stare in disbelief and question why it was done.
The soul merely shakes and moves on into the bitter landscape
like the cowboy searching for the sunset.
Like the moth searching for a candle.
And still those eyes watch.
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