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To Kindle Ice

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They call it humidity but it feels too dry
where you see your breath day or night
if it's cold it might as well be snowing
but the only thing to throw is glass
half an inch of safety as firm ground
the only warning a minscule crevice
one so small but still you know you've fallen
but all glass is forged from heat
as a tulip finds a way through
to set the forge and ignite the fire
as time passes the fire cracks
consumed in a prism of icebound images





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