Is it beautiful or ominous?
the still and frozen limbs
of trees that lace and stand
like of stalagmites
that shock us even
though it took so long for
them to form.
Frost is simple
so much like a sleeping
horse, the the way they stand
and even blink
dead asleep.
Even heavy laden snow
on evergreens
is foreign to this ornament.
I wish I could shake
the trees awake
and make summer grow.
It is ominous of
a summer that might
be stuck inside
a frozen fist;
the air, like a
muffle over my alarm
to a feeling
of contradictions.
I could go back to bed
and avoid this foretold silence
or rush out to show my faith
that an Eden of perfection
constantly changes.
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