The Convergence

The Convergence

Hoarfrost clings to treesSnowy Woods
offering holy hand prints upon branches
evidence of waiting
morning snow-mist
cloaks my form in sunrise shadows

This world sleeps as we walk
upon prayer mountains who shake off
nightsleep like too heavy woolen blankets

Time falls suspended with each carefully constructed snowflake
a message in a bottle within a million tiny crystals

more than a message
an act

Each icy star lives but a moment
words breathe through icy coldspeech,
winds hum psalms,
while unseen angels twirl unaccompanied upon mountain landscapes
as a single snowflake
rests upon my mouth



4 thoughts on “The Convergence

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