Age half-steps across the ice pond-
scorpions tap-tap the flesh-
the sun hovers brittle and honest-

An unknown selects the spot-
passages are drilled and gleaned-
seasons tangle, miracles are imminent.

The line quivers, age dons a child's heart-
silver thrash is coaxed to silence-
memories flaunt their fractured crowns...
a wall, a vow..a flag encased in glass-
birthsongs..the stale breath of friends long dead.

A bird bleeds color into the shoreline,
age thinks the truest smile
is the one performed alone..

Evening's grand candles commence-
and croons a miracle's lament-
only then does age leave the pond,
entering the ice forest..

I don't think I'll ever forget the line

scorpions tap-tap the flesh

with its uniquely indelible image. I think it's the phrase "tap-tap" which does it; it's amazing. The right word, a deft turn of phrase, an apt bending of a line, can and does work wonders.

There are so many right, deft, and apt things in this poem, that if I were to point them all out I would just be quoting the whole poem back to you. But I love that part about the sun shining "brittle and honest," among many favorite wonders.

I think this is an amazingly visual poem, and one of your best ever. Out of a rich and bountiful banquet of harvest, this delicacy stands out as something to be savored, refusing to be forgotten. The title itself is such a vision, so evocative. Good call posting the poem in the brittle silver of ice, as well.

I especially enjoyed this one, Misty. You are observably growing into a truly amazing poet. I'm so happy we are witnesses here to your unfolding; it is like watching a sacred ritual dance, and marveling.

Love,

+Stevie

thank you....you put a smile on my face:)
misty..