Winter Klieg

Dawn startles the ice-tight branches.
Back-lit

by klieg, they yield secrets. Modesty
tells us

do not look. If we lack it, our blotched
retinas

deliver a long scolding.
Out

in the white world, the weight of us
crunches

through crust, no pretense at ethereality.
By midday,

all crashes, thin wands shattering all around
with a sound

like rocks through panes. Chill melt
creeps

into our boots as we hove homeward,
wringing

ourselves out, no more revelations
to be had.

by Devon Balwit

Editor’s Note: This poem’s imagery is both startling and true.