Stars melt.
Their cold celestial fires
Liquefy, flowing from the sky
To cold streams in the winter woods,
Their movement over rocks
The only sound on a day
Whose stillness and solitary quiet
Predict snow.
I hear it.
You hear it.
Snow falls.
The river flows.
Passions burn
Slowly, quietly, and still
Without asking permission.
Without asking your attention.
They are here,
And they will claim you.
They wait as you wonder
About the snow,
How it might mix with the stars
To flow where it will,
Where it will flow,
How it will rise to a new star.
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