An artistic collaboration with poet Laura Schwecherl Saracho.

The sun silently bends over the curvature of earth.

Light is scattered,

bouncing
off a once-was crystalline water
to a once-is lifecycle of ice.

By morning all is coated with a thick white.

Filling every volcanic notch
Dusting every
blade of grass, meadow flower, eroded rock.

The spaces between
the branches.

I am told all the colors of light add up to white.

I am told even the lanky trees and roots
are repainted at an angle.

I learn ice is not transparent, but translucent.

Its color created from collection of light
and a change of direction.

As soundless as snow piles its velvet flakes,
her shadows surface against what is above.

A blue-grey hue.

A hushed revolution of azure paint,
a rebirth of pattern stained
the color of sky.

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