The dark night
was a white sky
amplified
by muted thunder.
Now and then
a flash of luminol blue
shocked the blackness
of the living room.
Still, blinkless eyes
stayed hypnotized
by the ivory dust
that fell from indiscernible clouds.
The shavings landed, peculiarly,
as textured liquid
and hardened as glossy ceramic
atop cold, wooden arms.
The limbs never flinched
but hypothermia
revived their grace
even as they grew numbly stiff.
Maybe it was the stillness
under the netted drape of motion
that polished the strips of bark
and adumbrated the radiance of their form.
Or maybe, they were just beautiful,
and beautiful all along.
