by Marissa Bell Toffoli.
There are treasure hunters
out on the coldest days
in pursuit of snowflakes.
A camera fine-tuned
to catch what the eye can’t,
a poem fit to share a secret.
A snowflake in solitary glory,
crystallized lines,
spokes and circles preserved–
an image we can keep.
The snowflake itself
lasts only seconds before melting,
the way everything we most want
to say evaporates once spoken.
These words–the trappings
for a moment, a whisper.

