Ogre Hands

I had but blinked; and there I was.
With yearning memory of the moment
I had left - my window, lead winter,
Cosy coffee and cigarette,
'Ready Steady Cook' - I gazed around.
So viciously my eyes hurt, pounded
By desolation.
My brother (of whom I owned no recollection,
Not even a name) kneeling at the foot of
The man who was an ogre.
His ogre hands twinkled with glacial shards
As he brought them smacking into
The face of my brother,
Who never flinched, his own hands
Holding on with love to his master's knees.
The sky carried tie-dye markings
Of yesterday, melting, disintegrating.
The man who was an ogre
Pulled my brother up to standing -
They embraced each other back to back,
The ogre's hands glinting
In the light, so cold.
Supreme behind them stood a mountain
Made of ice: my heart flung home.
I could hear my brother crying
As the ogre flew away, slowly kneeling
To bury his face in the sparkling, deadly snow.