The ice sculpture

The ice sculpture

 

As we sleep

within these stone walls

which echo with our hawed out breaths

fingers wringing, rapt

about other fingers

a leaking hose pipe in the garden

sculpts an ice forest

 

grown larger each morning

displaying more translucent trees than the night before

encasing blades of grass

in individual crystal tombs

awaiting with hope

a warm outbreath or

the caress of our weak winter sun

for a release

 

this morning

at the kitchen sink

you put your arms around me

so lightly

after we disagreed on how to light the stove.

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