midnight moonlight illuminates the stage
once the snow queen has arrived,
stars becoming snow, letting themselves go—
sparkling still, she shines alive.
but where do dancing maidens sleep
when the curtains finally fall?
think of their dead under the roses
peaking through glittering flakes,
looking glass fragments freezing over,
red mary janes gifted to the streams.
I should kiss you to death and whisper pretty things in the promises of spring.
(as crystallized landscapes remain immersed in ice.)
