Walking in Snow shoes.

[cidermaid]

I feel the imperfections,
ions in each unique wood flake,
aching under silent fields of snow;
onerous gram weighted peeks and troughs.

Offers of pristine carbon dated sheets
eat at tired thoughts that slide,
idle in freefall, foot prepped they stretch;
etched clouds of sun-downing starlings.

Lingering they cling; half formed ideas,
earless dreary droplets on bare branches.
Essence starved, highly metalled, they drip
rippled dross that cools on the un-tilled field.

Eldritch forces shield the pressed perfection,
on which fragments of calm collide and splinter.
Terse aborted concepts leap sky-born,
ornate in flight they swirl in flightless flocks.

Oxygen boosted the fledglings flee,
easing off the aborted roost; a reflective river
verse that swirls in random bursts of unborn images,
gestated under a clouded sun-lit canopy.

Peels of thoughts switch and swoop low;
own the virgin field of snow, by virtue of a kiss.
Issues melt, the fluid thought compacts,
acts upon a single, graphite drop and falls.

Alternate climatic creative waves; twice
ice hard dead upon the page are left unread.
Edited, the final decent is progressive and smooth;
the imperfections are covered and soothed.