tonight
the moon is made of ice, freezing everything touched
by its light. air brittle as
crystal, feel it on your face, a ballet of prickling
needles. dead quiet, every sound crisp as a potato
chip, crusty snow crunches underfoot as you approach
the creek, walking on windows, the thin sheets crack
like glass as boots break through into shallow
drained riverside hollows. the rushing water makes
no single sound, changes with every step, from high
notes where it's broad to roar where stream plunges
and narrows, you follow every branching channel, the
music of fractals as a million
moons dance on the surface, a quivering
reflection atop every ripple. so
besotted by the clarity of the totality you don't
notice your ears have gone numb so you rub with
ungloved fingers to restore circulation before
making one last round over beslimed ebb tide rocks,
the receding perimeter, so slippery every step must
be considered, follow a tendril of smoke to promise
of hearth and home...
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