They're everywhere.
bursting from the clouds,
swarming streetlights,
crystal bodies tossed like
sand across the desert.
Falling on their brothers and sisters,
building Arctic ramps over sidewalks and street corners.
Cold and fresh in your mouth.
Blown by the biting wind,
an eerie, whistling moan,
the February Fly is thrown,
tumbling downward
onto your cheek.
Though it happens suddenly,
I see this sharp, sparkling flake,
the only one of its kind,
melt away in slow motion,
leaving a dew-drop egg
to carry on the next hatch.
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