Frosted

Small spaces of lightthat lead us from the outside in,frames dripping condensation.Still the harsh frost claws the land,crisping the pliable,transforming elements.Myopic dreams of troubled seas,reclaiming land and structure::the universe exists before and after,we are but evolutionary modulesstruggling to understand.Windows into our own definition of the past,“Quick said the bird”children rustling in the rose garden.Through window paneswhere the sky changing lightalways implacably watches.