"The Winter World Where My Heart Waits To Breathe"

.

A baby-blue butterfly

fluttering through an icy grove—

cold in the snowy cage that keeps it,

the crystalline bars of its cell

cracking, falling, piercing.

.

All the frozen teardrops

that once bejeweled the solid lake,

and draped icicles and beds of snowflakes,

and dead, white trees,

have disappeared

for the time being.

.

This once icy crypt is warming—

a thing deep underground is breaking free

and waking the wintry world,

forcing red into this white waiting room

that only goes on because it has to.

.

A consciousness is blooming in fresh jade,

and a boiling sun begins to melt the what-was.

There are clouds now,

and though I may be blind,

I am warm, and glowing.

.

My heart used to be blue veined,

destined to die a cold, glittering death,

but love happened.