Wintersea, 2

In Wintersea when the winter heat 
drifts ashore 
the Degas in the Main Hall?

its white tutu thaws into a soft, milky froth

but the citizens must not ever speak of this 
for the newborns are always and still 
fast asleep
and jealousy creeps and devours 
in every corner 
drip 
    
drip 
dripping a metallic water 

“and thou art dead, as young and fair”
Lord Byron shouted into the fog but no one wanted to hear 
over the buzzing of flies vomiting on rotted meat 
the screaming pile of foul smelling letters 
the discordant noise in the shattering reflections 

“Do you finally see?” the Hag pleads 
bearing her gray teeth through blackened lips 
her silver gown glistening on the synthetic sea 
the froth and foam bathes the Furies and The Crone.