.

There, in sky and time,
are all the things
one cannot touch
or trust to stay the same.

They beat, as if to topple winter
crowned with prussian shadows
passing pale walls of snow
and icicles on Buddha's blessed nose.

These sacred gifts
form labyrinthine tunnels
to be mined
by Sarah's loss.

Mad rays of disappearing love
solidifying hope
into an army climbing stairs
through her fresh heart.