THE OTHER HABITABLE WORLDS
In the morning after the ice storm
as the orb crested the hill,
the tops of the tall oaks –
they appeared as the finest tatting,
a sparkling lace, infinitely detailed,
the ladies having been busy in the night.
By afternoon the young geometricians
could measure the numerous prisms
as the westerly rays
pierced the frozen beads.
I must be on the close end of the spectrum.
All I see is red fire
crystals like a ballroom chandelier,
trees like a transcendent vision
above an ancient mosaic floor,
each tiny chip with a panoramic cosmos
of its own, yet another sighting
of all the many habitable worlds.