Helada Blanca (Hoar Frost)
Lace draped branches, water, skin
are woven together, fragile, brittle, cold.
Into the woods deeply, hoar frost blurs the difference
between everything alive and everything dead.
The path here is buried under days of snow.
It is easy to get lost, the fog erases the familiar.
You must experience this alone, the silence
of white on white crystalline whiteness.
I lose my mind staring at a single tree.
For the brief time, magic exists.
How does one stop the unraveling?
Published in Self Published Chap Book of Art and Poetry, with a grant endowed from Art Space, In the Meantime Gallery and NEA: Art as Metaphor, Analogy and Allegory, 2013.
