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.
- Momma’s Boy Gone Bad
- If I see