Tanner Brockwell

when the shards
by tanner brockwell

when the shards
as ice is a flake
minuscule and magnificent
touches the skin
time in a heartbeat
then a drop of dew
count them thousands
count them supreme
the descent from high
messages in the fractal trace
each landing on upturned face
who would speak
face to face
the captive eye
three before
what time is tea time
pouring the golden new
each drop into
a fragrant brew
the clink of spoon
and altogether
this is soon
the cup to lips
would brew a kiss
of summer and sojourn

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