the hush of snowfall resounds
and morning comes on a plinth of cream fire
over white shoals of winter's aspen
and a platoon of black oak, heavy laden
with pillows of opal dust,
the crisp air dangles from your breath
as you come upon a raven's ink plumage
resting atop the crystalline wave
frozen in swell; more akin to the sea
than to the earth bound diorama
more of a ripple than a discrete patch
of sugar at your feet.
holding a black wing
to a promise.

and a kiss is debris,