The wind that wafts like a draft through
early man’s cave and alchemist’s lab
brings a chill, despite a warming flame,
smoke darkening the ceiling
as it has through the ages.
This winter of long years will not be
driven away by primitive chants over
burning embers, nor with incantations
over beakers and gas flames.
The arctic grip of this new ice age will bend
only to time and changes beyond our control,
with our fate dependent on both.