Not feathered as a bird’s wings are, bat-like

and leatherly, each fanned away the air,

so three unchanging winds moved out from him.

Cocytus being frozen hard by these.

Dante, Inferno, 34, v. 49-52

 

A storm from the centre of the earth

produced by Lucifer’s double wings

flapping restlessly,

everlasting machinery

freezing the lake of Cocytus

where we lie shameless

of the daredevil flight,

impenitent of the icy winds we caused

that trample our garden blossoms,

kill puffins and lambs,

menace our weakened bones

forcing us into Regatta coats,

yearning for the turning of summer,

the earth a clattering of bones.

Our cheeks are an icy mask

waiting for the passer-by to lift the frozen tears

like frate Alberigo who asked Dante to free his pain.

But he didn’t.