Glassy and wet
water in a white dress,
thrashing the “I” with
a thick Ick! Right in the middle.
“C” curving around the “L”
sharp as a sickle.
Cracking with the small, brittle
twisted twigs,
abandoned by the bare breast;
solidifying around a hiss,
smoke swishing drops
in the quiet snow.
Icicles by Elizabeth Shuler
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