thaw
Patches of green listen in to a soft dropping
melting icicle clinging to cold,
easy mischief speaking from its losing,
its long long reach down,
until measured running beats fade into
musty tunneled earth, the obvious road home,
though the end is unseen, still,
quiet, hazy,
through a drop of water
a mirage in the snow
beckoning to light clad feet
and coming methodically
along its tracks tied down,
reaching down
in cold cold mud,
fingers of ice clenching stiff
and releasing surely
all those ghosts into a hidden
underground stream.