Weight   forces the tree branches
       to grip the ground. Sky
veils the hills, and wind
      displaces enough to hide
   footsteps. Fences buried:
we do not look.

The world is cleaved in ice,
blue: alone, diverged in water,
a frozen peace, embraced
by steel-cut sky, pinched
by fingers splicing through
Northern Lights so close. Hack.
Grab what was never, but
      what you want.