The white brilliant light
Blinds my brown eyes blue
Like sky.
The snow laden bushes snuggle like bunnies
Their tops softened like fur.
The noon sun glows hot
And slices the cold like a knife.
And stabs my heart with waiting.
The wet drop refuses to fall from the icicle tip,
Hovering between liquid and freezing.
What happens next
After the diamond frosted minutes of living?
The crow stands like a black dot on a blank page
And caws its perfect punctuation for morning.