Something about white snow on brown trees clinging like blankets to a bed of nails— a softness like pillows over stone floors ribbons tying bundles of arrows Something about the beauty of winter seen through windows like the danger of a tiger behind bars—teeth that can cut flesh but not steel claws that can tear but not weld Something about white snow that clings and turns trees to bones poking out of graves on a battlefield where the dead would fall but for the cages that hold us back the windows that keep us safe
Shapes Not Forms
Shapes Not Forms
Shapes Not Forms
Something about white snow on brown trees clinging like blankets to a bed of nails— a softness like pillows over stone floors ribbons tying bundles of arrows Something about the beauty of winter seen through windows like the danger of a tiger behind bars—teeth that can cut flesh but not steel claws that can tear but not weld Something about white snow that clings and turns trees to bones poking out of graves on a battlefield where the dead would fall but for the cages that hold us back the windows that keep us safe