Winter has settled the cracks. Nested
half-moons rise from their edges
on a lakeshore in the beloved city.

We could find the narrative in their ascent
or simply admire the way shadows
pool their terraces at dusk.

Waist-high in snow in the middle
of the boulevard — heaven
would be this quiet, this sharp.

All of creation sparkles & winks;
a mind dazzled
by the first idea of light.

Held in the mouth it’s an act of love —
but let it hang enchanted — one seed —
its inevitable & forbidden burn.