like birdsong lounging drawn out and pricked and white as if you could hold it cupped in a glass and wait for the glass to break in your hand.
the crystals are like shadows and vary their form starkly part full to part empty as if a matter of choice with the light.
their little business of melting throws sponges sifting heavily from the trees like the feeling of overstuffing your mouth with marshmallows.
for a spoon propelling sugar people often forget that many others die in the snow.
this one was always in the balance