.
Light
Enamels the naked
Trunks, cleansing
Sun strikes

The unraveled trees
Bolted to frozen ground
And the leaves
Mosaic,

As any temple
Floor, iconic,
Pray, tell stories
Of turned seasons.

In winter
Snows come merely
To raw, all unwashed
And drape purity,

White as truth
And sparse is song
From only the most
Devout birds

Who with Hymn,
In the piped choirs
Of icicles, drip
Drop to blessed waters,

Anointing the soiled
Sinner ground,
Waiting for spring
Eternal.