Sifting on an unbroken membrane,
already you can hear the crunch
that will emanate as your feet
tread and break a path
sure to displease your aesthetic eye.
Branches speak as silhouettes
deep into the twilight scenes of January
in the realms of hanging ice
smoking breath and tundra bellows.
Floating a tiny toy ship onto
the clouds passing by the magnetic rock
slowly reveals the night for the dark morning
it hides itself as,
and in the stomach of winter
you can hear the churning organs
all around the belly of the season;
branches playing on an untouched white sheet
conjuring the images of the stars hanging above.