i look out on a world
that is entirely still
within the hazy breath
of unflinching cold.
through mist-stained
windows, i see that the
aching limbs of trees
are patterned with
etched white spirals,
those slivers of silver
that lay as if an artist
had spent the night
coaxing them into
those delicate, curling
shapes. every blade
of grass pulls on a
new skin of ice, that
shines with a purity
unreflected by any
single thing on earth.
the cold is soft, loving:
it presses kisses to
my fingers, as they lay
upon cool glass with
pale fog embracing them.
oh, what a world we
exist in, where existence
may be so eternally
frozen in the warm,
chilling hold of frost.
i dare not shift my
gaze, however, for
i know, eternity does
not require forever;
eternity needs only
a few brief moments
of silence, for it to
reach out and grasp
the time it has been
given, and make it
wholly its own.