Ice
J Ann Crowder
I’ve touched ice in a cold sea of vermillion blue, burning a conflagration
She presumes to snatch soft, feathered hues from morning’s glory
She kisses my wings, dappled and golden, pressing my beating heart with her cold, damp fingers
My inner phantoms thus scream with a might of piteous dews clinging to ethereal vines and blossoms freshly heaved from earth’s dark mass
Like leavened bread I am for a moment brought low, until fire blooms upon sheathed, frozen storms
Alas, she melts and seeps back into an entrapment of purifying sediment
My feet walk garden paths once more as my wings of honey feel a warming tinge of basking air expelling a heavy sweetness in a springtide’s aroma
Written January 15th, 2017.
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