ALONE IN BASE CAMP.
They come at night
the ice men,
with their snow crystal eyes and icicle beards,
in frozen formation
to my cold resting-place.
Empty eye-sockets mesmerize,
bony hands reach out for mine.
In my snow hide, on my ice ledge
my fading headlamp
waltzes shadows on the blue-frozen walls.
Wait, wait!
Draw back your clawing fingers,
retreat beyond the shadows where
you belong but not yet I.
Linked in hubris,
our Nemesis reflected
in the flicker of that dying lamp.
Copyright Marianne Whiting