Buried alive

Cold flecks from a dark sky

Ice splinters lodged in their eye.

Memory. Icicle and other,

Numb fingers, shaking down my spine.

Silver watchmen, born of a world,

Pooled with light, sheer as silk.

Every time the stars have rained,

The sparkle floated from the sky,

The time before, the one before that,

When once this night would mean magic.

And yet,

As constant as winter.

They seep into the corners,

Seek out their crevices.

My world.

My night of dark whites.

Selfish snowdays,

Steal away the hope.

The expectation,

The reality quenches the dream,

The vision of snow falling from the sky.

Another winter, more snow

Still magic.