Wind Chill Symphonic

Frost from people’s mouths, and vapors
like chilled aerosol rolling across a blurred surface,
and wind, a muffled character from offstage 
unwinding its repression; now sandals won’t do.

An artist made me hear silence with his
violin; at first, the irritation of a bow bothering
a string – people coughing, dropping pens.
But then ice shards talking?  Longer shards

with more between; the breath of dreamers
in the spheres, spectral celebration
and those who ease noise into quiet presence.

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