The slow crust of ice
Embodying motion
And capturing it
In cold, pointed crystal
A fall kept on pause
Can be broken and moved
Not reaching the ground
It’s left something to prove
A Poetic Dive into the Creative Unconscious
The slow crust of ice
Embodying motion
And capturing it
In cold, pointed crystal
A fall kept on pause
Can be broken and moved
Not reaching the ground
It’s left something to prove