by Don Mager
With a Wren’s persistence at a patch
of dry grass, the sun pecks doggedly
at the undersides of ice frozen
on chandalier limbs. In clandestine
caves of starless dark, sleet of evening’s
drive-time rain froze solid. Half a day
away, ice clings undaunted by the
glaring sun’s affronts and its brazen
onslaughts. Persistence hails its triumph.
Outbreaks of glee loosen ice chunks to
slip off. Their silver clatters down to
bare grass’s midday patch, glistering
like the blast from a shattered windshield.
Ice shards drop. Sun licks. Ice drops. Sun licks.
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