Light flows so intensely through this frozen
crystal prism, faintest color’s our result:
gray haze like London morning’s explosion
of mist and smoke; then suddenly occult
transforming to translucence at center,
as clear as psyche following prayer.
Adjusting to this sculpture of winter,
the eye finds at its core a small layer
of droplets suspended like rain, or tears,
timeless reminder of what cleanses earth
and us. It chills the palm, predicts our years
to come: our living, dying, and rebirth.
Months from now, we’ll consider how we felt,
passing it hand to hand, watching it melt.
Roger Armbrust
April 13, 2007
