Ice on Windows by Alan Gould
You have woken, but not as usual.
Windows are staring back at you, as though
the glass had been smashed and re-assembled.
But where are the apple trees and their world ?
Pane after pane is answering the question
in dazzling cuneiform. They're pages
in the script of a vanished people.
They're worksheets of that miniaturist, winter,...[more]