IN THE MORNING of winter shadow,
a night time of ice quills quiver in shrouded anticipation
of the bright armies of day to come rushing round the edges of things with their spears of sunlight into the battle.
The gathered halberdiers of winter cast long needle-shadows across the green ice with their weapons,
and the lichen-frosts whisper the crystalline secrets of this very new day.
Each crack and trill of the waking world asks:
Who will win the battle?
At this cold cusp of a certain point of early,
the blades of frost and light clash and shatter my vision into a million pieces of beautiful.