Sun on winter days like this,

When icicles are mirrors

Of the deepening mist,

Coating pines in layers


Of the leaden sky, beaming snows

On clouds, freezing shimmer

In a crystal haze - sun throws

Water up inversely from the forest floor,


Twirling columns of the deeper flakes

Into upper, colder spikes,

A trade that makes

New versions of the glacial dikes


That sky will vaporize

With sight, the planet's core

Which emerges on such nights

As, in its depths, hoar


Coagulates to atmospheres,

Coupling lines that thaw

Evaporates in tiers,

The ebbs and flows that draw


The light to dark, the breaches

Of the year, the rhythm

Of convection in the reaches

Of ancestral limbs


Where the world turns around,

Where our false celestial skin

Is riddled through with ground,

The galaxy's trick engine


Laced in ice beneath our feet,

Airy photosynthesis

That swaps such dazzling heat

For frigid scenes like this,


Light wound up in blizzards lest

The cold that breeds in space

One day comes to rest

In an uncertain human place


Where the solar system's chilling rays

Woven in your lucid hair

Mirror with their perverse blaze

The closest thing on earth to air.