Or what I wrote about instead of skiing on holiday.

The Winter of Terror
(For Austria, 1951)

It was quiet here once-
Earth shiftless,
Alps graceful in their
stance, enveloped in
gossamer fabric.
The surrounding air
inhaled easy through
nose out chapped lips-
till mountains heaved edges
turned to curves, descended
into a billow
swollen, suffocating.

How curious it is
that something so
beautiful could be
so heavy.