Ice Woods

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Last night the sleet came. Now the sun
Has rendered the forest crystalline.
Each limb a sun, I am forced to squint
As spectrums shake the jingling vines,

But soon the falling shards will sound
Like dinner plates in anger tossed
With just the crackle beneath my boots
Reminding me of the prisms lost.

Somewhere the ice woods might last, but here
The very sun that lights the sleeve
On pine and birch also melts the glaze–
You glimmer. Then, you leave.

Scott Thomas

Scott Thomas

Scott Thomas is Head of Information Technologies and Technical Services at the Scranton Public Library in Scranton, PA. He has appeared in Mankato Poetry Review, The Kentucky Poetry Review, Sulphur River Literary Review, Webster Review, Poetry East, Stirring: A Literary Collection, Poem, Philadelphia Stories and others.
Scott Thomas

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