icicles

water
running down
layer upon layer
with every
thaw and freeze
amassing
one small drip
suspended
on the tip
like spittle
or drool
sliding
falling
from the lips
of tormenting
winter
about to fall
until hardened
by the dropping
temperature
dipping faster
than water
can flow
splitting light
like shards
of glass
bright against
the light
slicing darkness
like an ice-cold
knife.

Liz McFadzean