Flakes, tainted, from premature melts,
no longer fluffy, pristine, white,
lay in slushy, crunchy piles.
We slip, slide, crunch bones all the while.
Hues—red, brown, black—discolor
but still masquerades the terrain.
Flakes swiftly falling--
lightly, tenderly—
whisper words to earth:
“Catch me, embrace me …
I will quench your thirst.”
Anxiously earth envelopes them,
licking, sealed with kisses slippery.
Flakes fall, easing into crevices,
eager to fill each opening.
(Their thirst is ever, unquenching.)
Temperatures turn them, changlings;
ev’ry little speck
will turn in time.
Some will dissolve;
others truly bond
or freeze as one wed.
Huge trucks disburse their grains of sand—
friction weaves shades together as
speckles and spots diffuse the flakes.
Pristine isn’t earthly, it grates.
Split up, they each go their own way
though some hide in shadows to thrive.
Virginity lost—
dirty and dying—
off-spring freely flows.
Wild rivers prancing
swallow weakened flakes.
Flakes, tainted, from premature melts,
no longer fluffy, pristine, white,
lay in slushy, crunchy piles.
We slip, slide, crunch bones all the while.
Hues—red, brown, black—discolor
but still masquerades the terrain.