A dendrite tree has just
been crystallised on my window.
This ephemeral delicacy is
free from earth’s bedrock.
I sense she couldn’t care
less about these trivial
ice splinters as she
flings herself around
space on her elliptical
orbital dance.
She’s long since
washed her hands of
her ice age, and
evicted her polycrystalline
offspring to her polar regions;
where these temperamental
states are allowed to
play out their own last days
in molecular bands.
The sun is rising.
Rays of light
strike into the ice.
Twinkle and wink and
eke out visual charms as they
dally up and down ice,
melting branches and
fern like fronds.
There is nothing
tangible left at the end
of this dendrites day,
except a cold nip in the air
and pains covered in
unidentifiable dribbles.
