After the savage 

and delicate storm

the forest shimmers 


with a million 

switchblades 

that catch and refract


the low-angled light

the world’s a museum

of crystal and rime 


verglas and hoarfrost 

every needle and limb

a Swarovski creation


what we expect to be

an ephemera 

of scattered rhinestones lasts


half a week—

it’s only later I hear 

those were the last days


of a boy in our town

two years’ sick

who died in his parents’ arms


all three of them held in that

sequined cathedral

as he made his passage


so thin the cellophane glaze

that separates being

from un-being


soon after the canopy disrobed 

all at once and dropped its

chandelier prisms everywhere


the chance to pass through

that kingdom of splintered glass

is our inheritance


and still it seems these trees

could shatter 

at the barest touch

Wendy Kagan is a writer and editor living in the foothills of the Catskill Mountains, where she finds inspiration in her two spirited daughters, artist boyfriend, and pair of cats. She studied literature and creative writing at Vassar College and Columbia University, penning her master’s thesis on the love poetry of Emily Dickinson. Her poems have appeared in The Baffler and Chronogram magazine, where she is also the health and wellness editor.