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.