I would like, if it will, for time to freeze,
stand still so that breath becomes redundant,
superfluous steam in the empty air.
The beauty of the snow falls on a bleak,
not a meek heart, burning with cold fire
against the siren winter sunlight
with her false promise and steel claws
dangling shimmering hope, icicles suspended over
unwary patrons with a spring in their step.
I should like for time to freeze until the seasons fade, flame out,
until my cold soul melts, relaxing iron bonds and
puddles, cool and reflective under the blue-gray sky.