Traces of red

Traces of Red

When ice is born from water
I bind my slave
in a landscape framed by icicles
to a tree covered in white frost

Cold can no longer touch him
when he merges into the passionate
tones of my whip
that makes him sing of mercy

His devotion will make birds fly
startled from their winter quarters
and his pure surrender to me
will stand out sharply at his feet

in traces of red…