Cold white salt on a heavy lid
Where the summer secrets hid
Zinc skin turning deep orange red
By the temple's stony bed
I am the rust in the frozen white
Holding the ghost of a garden light
Heavy and hollow and left alone
Sleeping beside the carved grey stone
Silver flakes on my handle grip
Where the winter waters drip
Once I carried the mountain stream
Now I hold a frozen dream
Ivy clings to the temple wall
Waiting for the snow to fall
I remember the petal gold
Before the mountain air turned cold
I am the rust in the frozen white
Holding the ghost of a garden light
Heavy and hollow and left alone
Sleeping beside the carved grey stone
Water turns to a jagged glass
Watching the lonely seasons pass
Metal flaking like a winter leaf
Turning a long and steady grief
Old monks walked in a steady line
Under the shadow of the pine
They forgot where they set me down
In this quiet mountain town
I am the rust in the frozen white
Holding the ghost of a garden light
Heavy and hollow and left alone
Sleeping beside the carved grey stone
Iron and ice.
Iron and ice.
Just a rusted can.
In the frozen white.
