Morning Ice

Rampantly, shivers chatter past
And slip languidly on the walk
Through the shadowed, blacker glass
In the fog of the frost-dew morning.

Early chirps sing at sterling ruby
Puddles, swirling into cracks
As peppered breaths steam the sky
And warm coats eat the white grass.

Prone before sunny throngs,
The morning whispers harshly
From yesterday's sing-a-longs
And the loss of caution in ice.

Drunk from the spirits and
Daggered from the world,
She sped toward home early,
But late by any other word.