“Thick ice to see through only gives
Cool blue sheen
To frigid white blankets – chill
To the touch.
Beliefs that it was always that way
From birth, and as the small child grew
The blue sheen grew too
And darkened what was there.
Slow short steps still moved forward
Even through shaded hues
The claws of some unknown being
Reached out into the blue blindness.
Moonlight or some heavenly glow
Shined from a far off insight
And touched the edges of
The tangling thorns.
In the glimmer could be seen
Little red heads silky
To the touch
Tight in their winter sleep.
What could those heads be thinking –
Dreaming about” – Megan M. Seaman