the day is preserved in amber and folly.
vista at belvedere thick. fog never unrolled
leaving a low ceiling. weather is falling
everywhere, falling sleet, falling snow, falling
touch. under her needle the grass breaks.
what was not said will never be said.
the crunch under foot mutes the world,
a muffled snowglobe perfectly calling
for play. coat of fur matted in first blood,
red holly berries drop naked in a trice,
softly touching frozen bethesda fountain
and silent sleighs pulled by horses. cockatrice
force grabbing at the throat for support,
thrusting evergreen against bark. climbing rocks
rising wrapped in iron fences and buildings,
tears run numb on smiling cheeks.
holiday blooms are still encased in amber.
the world tilted and there is no marker.
