Clear and slick and frozen,
The ice coats the ground,
The trees, parked cars,
And any tangible thing around.

My breath makes the air visible,
Just for a moment; it’s 25 below,
And I am frozen, chilled to the bone,
Shaking everywhere I go.

The city is an ice sculpture,
Glistening, so beautifully hazardous;
Frozen solid, doomed to melt –
An existence quite precarious.

The sun is stunningly silent today;
Does it believe its fate has been chosen?
I don’t miss it now, I suppose, but only
Because I’m enchanted by all that is frozen.