Frozen Fines
Flakes stack,
pushed back,
icy coat,
ice slabs afloat
down frozen
current - no crew, nor boat.
Melt and wet; she frantically dealt,
a spirit, a sensual squall,
one we all felt
belt in our weary
spines, echoing itself
between the evergreen pines.
Her punishment comes
in seasonal fines.
THOMAS RIVET
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