aixois iii

icicles on an awning
swaying like chimes,
a silent song.

like a wave,
or piano keys
ascending a scale--

against the clear sky
they glow,
dripping at angles--
sometimes still.

occasionally they fall
from too much sway,
not allowed to melt--
but break.

thus become the cymbal
in the song,
no more to dance--
no more to give.

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