Alaskan Snowflake

Alaskan snowflake, in the snow filled grotto, the pool clear, scarred ice.
The chill fills my lungs like fire, the clouds of my breath mists that bore giants.
The snowflake wisps on the wind, dancing and twisting in the crisp air.
Lead me down to this profane and sacred place, this lost place of grace.
Alaskan winter calls back the dream of visions tarnished and lost to corruption.
Sweet in the peace it brings from the storms raging and going and raging again.
Wisped into the air, to the slate and tombstone sky above, merciless in it’s eyes.
The snowflake lands upon my hand, and it’s intricacy is momentary, before fading.
Melting away, like summer in the memory, a warmth that does not heal or soothe.
The water on my hand washes away, leaving only tracks like streams of tears.
A memory and frozen paths to the sacred place, made sweet in a profane desire.
All that shows it was ever there.

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