The sky is falling,
crystals from the upper levels
sliding down,
rare and presumably precious.
I know I will curse those crystals
when in the vampire cold,
treating them as weeds
grown on my driveway, my windshield,
my stairs.
As infrequent harbingers, they are beautiful.
Collectively, they are nuisance or wonder
depending on location.
They seem to carry the lost light
of the overcast dulled sky
and the sun that I no longer see.
If only the sky didn’t dull me as well.


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