Nostalgia, in the water

Shadows sculpt frozen daggers that hang over home’s front porch, in wait,
The Sun, ancient and naive, helps a slippery black death expand its borders,
Night progresses, innocent waters are rigidly bound, their free will oppressed by
the cold,
All of this, from a day’s beautiful snowfall.

Errant rays of light paint monochromatic bands onto canvas; a dynamic, fluid prism,
The Moon, dull yet wondrous, elegantly reflects the mark of its fiery life-giver into a puddle,
Where life is there and it is not, a random dance of microflora and fauna, invisible yet possible
with warmth,
All of this, from a night’s dreary rainstorm.


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