Jötnar do not march when Máni’s full face shows. 
Behind the back of his ebony skull, they stride. 
When one shivers in the sun, shade is a blanket. 

Wing-shadows of geese tickle dots across cheeks 
like the leaf-trickles of sun 
mortals bask beneath. 

Cloud cover is as soft to the touch as a feather 
pillow upon icicle skin. Glacial beds deep in snow- 
drifted dark caves are a haunted haven for hot tears. 

No reindeer cloaks can be found in Jötunheim. 
Fur is kindling for flames upon 
more flesh to consume. 

Gold winner of this contest: https://allpoetry.com/contest/2830962-National-Poetry-Month-April-15th-noguest