Yeti at My Desk

I did try to talk to it –
but it just shrugged,
hushed me with a sprinkle of snow.
It sniffed my lamp,
my papers, my mug of pens,
a glacier in its gaze,
the sharp smell of mountains
filling the room.
It scanned my bookshelves,
its huge frame wedged in the chair
while its eyes strained for a mist-wreathed col
behind my walls of words.
We bowed our heads,
tasting the secrets of the folded night
over the endless crevasse that lay between us,
the roof of our world creeping higher
into icy silence.