Every Thought A Snowflake

Six-pointed bits of white noise

Sometimes a flurry

Sometimes solitary

Uniquely different, drifting slowly downwards

Merging with the mundane

To be sometimes swept aside in a melee

Sometimes melting away with the memory

And sometimes suspended precariously, like an icicle

At the tip of a pen

A formless, frozen drip

Poised

To find form as an inspired carpet of words

Crystallised on the blankness of a page