Soulstice

Marzipan melting heralds the
approach of a climate-changed
& -charged summer. It is an-
other kind of dance, the dance 
floor crowded, no audience, no 
pattern to the steps the dancers 
take. No soft shoe shuffle —
there are words mixed in with 
the leather on wood mutterings 
but with syllables missing so 
that cacophony results, but in 
a language no one has ever
heard before. Ice flows. It looks
& tastes like blood. No hint of
almonda now left anywhere.