Enter the cold spell
cloaked with snow and
haloed with sun,
dressed brightly in
gray, white and gold.
Her eyes are blue:
sweet,
cold and empty.
She dances down blacktop,
skirts swirling,
light, high-arched feet just brushing the tar,
leaving behind a glimmer of
chill in the cracks of the street,
a brocade of ice on the windows.













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