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Outside my kitchen window
icicles are melting,
each at its own pace.

The drip-drip-drop nervous one
in the middle
breaks through the others’ peace.

They have lived here three days.
Snow from the sky
fell on my roof, then melted when the roof
got warmer than the air.
Icicles were born, grew strong and long.

Clinging to a gutter, they are
caught between earth and sky.
Strong and long, and on their way to gone,
their lifeblood falls on evergreen bushes.

The nervous one is slowing down.
Ice turns to water,
water to vapor,
vapor returns to sky.

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