by on February 18, 2013 :: 0 comments

Snow has whirled its ghosts
all this long winter, chilled
my dreams, drift after drift,

and grieved its ripples
across mirrored pools
of sleep.

The moon’s breath covers the field
with crystal threads that crunch
beneath my boots with each step.

I send a prayer for hardness
to release me, finger to arm,
for ice to crack and the prisms

within its soul to drop
to earth and bloom into
colors only water can bring,

for the voice
of warmth to whisper
into the valley’s opened hand.

editors note:

Sweet! On this downward slope o’ the solstice, we can almost touch that thaw. Soon… soon! – mh

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