Flutter Like Angels Channelling Their Solace Poem by Mark Heathcote

Let the trees wear autumn gold tiaras
let these snowflake whispers of mid-winter
flutter like angels channelling their solace
let fissures open up an elixir
let us be, salted, hung, dried, smoked, and cured
let these magical powers intervene
puncture my heart, locked, immured
let me be redeemed, find my snow queen
live life amidst a never-changing scene
let it be frozen white like quartz in stone
sculptor. Carve your immortal figurine
anklebones locked together, never windblown
like marble ice melting going nowhere
liquid fluid …yet—still, as a polestar.