Is a snowball so saturated with the blues
Sound has liquefied.
And it can’t be thrown
Or used as the chest, head or ground
Of Frosty. Was his reflection on
The greenhouse floor his body melted
Down to the space between the earth
And the sky? His hat was power. The stars
Inside included the hearts of morning
Star and dawn welded together here
In different crossed sections of steel,
Constructed high
In the eyes of the one
Tower of sky to Heaven. And behind
Door number three,
A barbed wire tumbleweed passed as a skeleton
Of a cloud when the lightning showed
The rain cut from its air-thin skin.
That’s how I got here with you.
Now I see the rain dance its sacrificial spring, uncoiled
From the blue-blooded body of the tower’s crown of thorns;
Millions of silver streamers on a parade of victory
For the shown top of the wounded mind of winter.
It’s a rod welding mind and body to
The glow of a liquid steel heart
Of in, joined at each barb of bone,
Dripping blue winter cores, cracks inside.
Or maybe it’s the branches of a tree
That I saw; tower, trunk. Coyote circles it;
