Wednesday, February 4, 2015


White world, ice-world, frozen
in that place of wintered becoming,
held and hidden beneath chilled
coat; chaos, darkness, delight

sit silent and expectant, waiting for
the thaw, the melting away of icy
shawl, revealing, what was, dripping
with the remains of liquid memory;

sighing at the touch of forgotten sun,
remembering the sensations of
being free, of stretching into smiles
of warmth; released once more to life.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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