When Dreaming of a Beach…

…one must be more specific There is beauty in ice sculptures, black leaves, sand granules and zebra mussel shells Someone carved a number into the willow 251 I wonder what it meant and how long it’s become piece of the bark Are they dead and buried, the secret etched inside the tree’s history? I cannot say 251 I had not seen before The biting winter air keeps me alert, alive noticing the minute details I