They tower in muted abstraction over the frosted waste
and the dewfall glitters in petrified suspension.
Their fingers blast the watercolour sky,
clawing in every direction like cursed fractals.
A dead scream of nothing cast into the winter void,
broken voices stolen away in Selene’s cold glow.

Once frothing with life, they now stand petrified and silent.
Anything but serene, they are sentinels of frozen destruction.
The earth’s lumbering axial shift
has drained them of their colour;
perhaps they will one day come to life again
and awaken from their furious slumber.