Cutting snowflakes in the sun
with different faces
-not just one-
to melt away
a frozen shun.
Trimmed paper snowflakes, cut and run
across the window pane.
Memories hung in noonday rain.
Simple snowflakes, drifting down,
to light upon a waiting tongue.
Nestling in to thaw and wane.
But after nightfall’s roll begun,
what’s taken and remembered, one,
was making snowflakes in sun.
April is National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). I wrote this one last year (during NaPo 2010), and have been working on it some recently.