through fine flecks of fair filigree,
perfect patterns of individuality speckled
on imperfect individuals.
on steaming skin thin on time,
too thick to break through, you cannot always sink
below the surface of an iceberg,
we cannot break through
all that lays beneath, all the lies below the surface,
it gets hotter the closer you come to the cold truth,
only in space can a spec appear spotless.
through the folds of a snowstorm,
we are the swept and the sweepers, we must be swift,
icicles can injure, perfection can pierce.
I can be broken,
I can be better, I can be broken, but it takes time
to rebuild. I can be a snow-swept filigree
falling through the perfection of time
with all its perfection, with its constant movement
and minutes, is as fragile as that snowflake.
All words and drawings by Damien B Donnelly