Ice


Grass is crisp, white,
wedding dress white
fox slinks across the lawn

thankful for the night
he’s left behind.

The crescent moon
is pristine: illuminati:
all I’ve known

wraps me in eternity.

Love is hard to source
impossible to grip
it slips like water

through my fingers,
all that’s left behind
is crushed ice.

I erase the letters
of the year, hold my
head high searching

sanctuary, this errant
spirit soars in flight
I return to myself.


Eight pink clouds
line up on horizon
the ground beats iron

beneath

the horse’s hooves;
my breath spirals smoke
& I again surmise

love is hard to source
impossible to grip:
it slips like water

through my fingers,
& all it leaves behind
is crushed ice.




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