The Fishing Huts

we cannot close their mouths

or silence their terrible syllable of unforgiveness

the souls have flown from their bodies

leaving eyes black    

mouths agape

the howling wind has gathered their souls

like dust of snow against a western wall of night

and together they are fading

in a flurry of madness from us

so that through the barren landscape

it is all we can do to stay awake

trekking across the expanse of the lake

with buckets of ice for their bodies

frozen in the fishing huts