Curled in a warm cocoon,
from the splintering cold
and brittle light outside
I hear a high pitched pulse,
hurled snow crystals, glass
against glass, enlivened by the play
of light and dancing dark
against the rhythm of lilac branches
in their patient sleep straining
toward light or shadowed tracery.
I hear the winter-weakened sun
roll across a shortened sky,
by icicles clinking
chimes cast on the frozen ground.