Tinsel

The snow comes down, silver glints,
Streaks and jewels against the window
Lights, and then turns into lines,
Liquid tinsel pooling in the night,

Garlanding the porch beams
Like bunting, a week too late,
The storm that wasn’t meant to be;
But now the late world seems

Caught up in the branches’ lace
And the fire’s cinders,
Crystals saving face
With what’s left of winter.

January 4th, 2024
Tippet Alley