Awake you told me of burst trees-
hardwood trunks that
become brittle in the cold. Their sap moves
slowly- stops- expands-
like a seal bomb in the heart.
Like a shattering of sinew.
The ordered growth of ice
crystals advancing the natural
cruelty of winter.
This story made my chin shake
in sympathy for that frigid forest.
That night asleep in your bed,
I heard the feminine crash of the sea, the particles of
water hitting rock
a choir of cymbals,
like the soft snap of closing scallops.
Countless droplets singing sweeter
than the gale.
This sound made my spirit quiver awake.
I had so much to share with you.
I knew those droplets
turn to heavy dew, floating
yellow leaves to the ground.
I knew those droplets
make your hardwood trees quiver, too.
Then I heard what I hoped to forget.
The song of the sea, the trees,
your hopeful heart, my rushing blood.
It was all one, that purest of sounds.
It was the tenderness of heartbreak.
I knew then
the crystal-song of winter ice that sounded out
during your burst tree's
last sway.