Frost dances its samba,
a three-way with the sky and earth
to fall upon surly trees, devoid of
their vibrant leaves
and lend them a new splendor.
The days grow ever-shorter
so ropes of light
unfold, a grand show of force against the
murky dark.
Lying on the ground, before winter forms its
city of crystal
there is only quiet
awaiting a blooming
unlike any other.
Unspoken Politics 