It is the child of cold and warmth.
It is right it should show up
both cloudy and clear,
this union of opposites,
shaped like a spear, piercing
the silence with dripping, dripping.
It forms itself
the same way it disappears.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged icicle, poem, poetry, thinking, thoughts, winter on March 17, 2019| Leave a Comment »
It is the child of cold and warmth.
It is right it should show up
both cloudy and clear,
this union of opposites,
shaped like a spear, piercing
the silence with dripping, dripping.
It forms itself
the same way it disappears.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged icicle, poem, poetry, winter on March 2, 2019| 2 Comments »
dripping icicle—
made by the same warmth
that will destroy it