Was told by mother not to stare,

stand too close to that outside world

so bare beyond the icy glass, glare

of sun strengthened by its chill effect.

He listened never, weathered

her wrath come from frustration.

And then he saw the girl.

A revelation on day like any other

(isn’t that always the expression cliched?),

he made his way forward, pressed

as close as ever before he’d dared

his hands, his face, straining against the frozen

glass, and gasped and cooed to behold

the beauty so pure that stood, just there,

just beyond, a fragile, crystalline border

away.  In love, she was it seemed, with what

they could create – he, mother, all of them this

world paused, clothed, glittering in diamonds

so cold.  He smiled, traced her profile

as she studied close his family’s work.

Her eyes jerked, of a sudden, he thought, to his.

He flinched back, heart seeming to beat

for once, to positively fizz with joy.

Could she, of all of them out there,

could she actually see him as a boy?

With a courage come from he knew not where,

he sighed his hope upon the glass:

her hair like a halo he imagined to float

around her head as she blinked – once,

twice – at the very ice wherein he waited.

Breath baited, his eyes widened at the sight

of her forward progress, her careful kneel

and trembling hand, fingers outstretched

to touch, caress his visage behind the frost.

Sharp needle of ice her finger pricked:

with singular drop of blood, her fate was his.

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