the icing on our earth cake

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all of the mysteries we call colors,

combining to fall and swirl and mount around us:

 

how can this not be magic?

 

how can it not sweep us out of our dark and dirty little houses,

out into this open-faced

light-cave of quiet?

 

i step softly in the air and crystals

and feel the purity pulling at me,

 

making me want to float,

to fly, to be a

better builder,

 

to start over,

fresh as a new born, as

a colorless spirit, free from stains and haunts;

 

taking me to a place where

i make-believe, and believe,

 

and wonder, and marvel, and climb

up and out of the tallest peak

to see where it all began —

 

bewitched by a beauty that

breathes deeper, walks taller,

reaches higher,

 

eats up all of the snow

until a trill-column fills the throat:

the purest suffocation —

 

this white delight,

this bitter-sweet burden of light:

 

the icing on our earth cake.

snow spirit

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