The Ice Sculpture Poem by Deirdre Grimes

As we sleep
within these stone walls
which echo with our hawed out breaths
fingers wringing, rapt
about other fingers
a leaking hose pipe in the garden
sculpts an ice forest

grown larger each morning
displaying more translucent trees than the night before
encasing blades of grass
in individual crystal tombs
awaiting with hope
a warm outbreath or
the caress of our weak winter sun
for a release

this morning
at the kitchen sink
you put your arms around me
so lightly
after we disagreed on how to light the stove.