Something we won’t see, or Late Winter Warmth

Something we won’t see, or Late Winter Warmth,

 

A Winter Libretto:

 

A reverse-coned icicle hangs dripping

Stalactites warm on the outside; frozen solid within.

 

Bringing a liquid heartbeat sound below-

 

Drip, beat, drip

Drip, beat, drip

 

Until gravity plucks this fragile form

Fleeting-

 

Spinning-

 

Crashing- it to the red brick ground.

 

Broken to bits, transparent

Pieces scattered about

No shape of the passing account.

 

Clear chemical solid cubes now.

 

Lying there broken

 

With these, no resemblance he could find to the picture in his mind

He looked to the sky to spy another sharp point growing in time.

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