Imprint

Cutting snowflakes in the sun
with different faces
-not just one-
to melt away
a frozen shun.

Trimmed paper snowflakes, cut and run
across the window pane.

Memories hung in noonday rain.

Simple snowflakes, drifting down,
to light upon a waiting tongue.

Nestling in to thaw and wane.

But after nightfall’s roll begun,
what’s taken and remembered, one,
was making snowflakes in sun.

*************
April is National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). I wrote this one last year (during NaPo 2010), and have been working on it some recently.

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