An icicle grows down
Rooted in the clouds above
Like a spear
Pushed into
The gloomy soul
Of lingering winter
An icicle
When it melts
On a bright day
Remains ice, with the promise
That it will again
Grow its roots upward
But never will it become
A spring
In a forgotten meadow
In a forbidden meadow
Where I once buried a name
Cold as a winter sunset
February 16, 2023
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2023
About the photo: I took it at sunrise a day after a snowstorm in Prescott, Arizona. The protected street had allowed icicles to grow down on a fire escape ladder.
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