Notes in Repentance

Fourteen lines give me just enough time
To dumb the guttural ring in your ears
Of the slow edge of rage that sliced in the cold
In the hope that it would freeze out my fears.
For our tropical love and monsoon sojourn
Have no time for desert despair
Nor do temperate climes suffer the cold
And the wail of glacier care.
But I stare at the clock, and revise my prelude
Reams may never suffice
For words have a way of blowing hot air
That simply will not melt the ice.
As words, tides and thoughts recede
I promise to make amends in deed.