Island of Glass
Glastonbury, Somerset, England
by KB Ballentine
The Tor towers over the hedgerows, the hazel,
cottage lights stippling the hill.
White bites my skin, ice shrouding the path.
Gray sweeps the horizon,
no distinguishing east from west,
up from down — meadow and peak topsy-turvy,
a monochrome model for the eye.
Frost floats like butterfly wings, pinks cheeks.
Yews stoop, layers of snow cracking,
sliding into piles that puff into chilled air.
Somewhere in the boxwoods a robin
whistles, reminds me I am not alone.
Not here where snow erases the horizon,
my promises. You.
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