Crystal Energy

The frost of the morning.

Beyond the green of maple tree,
beyond fall's back door screen,
there comes a thin cold energy
that is an ice machine.

It is a frost that works at night
in pane and tire Jack,
to picture frame a lift of white
and welcome winter back.

Poetic molecules abide,
a friction taut and terse,
the power of an ode inside
to start with open verse.

It slips among the ocher nooks
to freeze the land and limb,
and turn aside the oblique looks
of autumn now turned dim.

A thought upon white crystal frost,
a wonder of the form,
a muse upon decisions lost,
a notion past the norm.

November nudges windowsill,
averse to overtime,
to power moisture with a chill
and end up with the rime.

Reviews

[JENY]

One of the best poems…
I read….
This week…
It is beautiful….really beautiful…