After a Storm

You walk under the ice trees. They sway, and crackle. And arch themselves splendidly To deck your going. The white sun flips them into colour Before you. They are blue. And mauve. And emerald. They are amber. And jade. And sardonyx. They are silver fretted to flame And startled to stillness. Bunched, splintered, iridescent.

You walk under the ice trees And the bright snow creaks as you step upon it. My dogs leap about you. And their barking strikes upon the air Like sharp hammer-strokes on metal.

You walk under the ice trees But you are more dazzling than the ice flowers, And the dogs' barking Is not so loud to me as your quietness.

You walk under the ice trees At ten o'clock in the morning.