Awe

It’s a shiver that climbs the trellis

of the spine, each tingle a bright white

morning glory breaking into blossom

beneath the skin. It can happen anywhere,

anytime, even finding this sleeve of ice

worn by a branch all morning, now fallen

on a bed of snow. You can choose to pause,

pick it up, hold the cold thing in your hand

or not. Few tell us that wonder and awe

are decisions we make daily, hourly,

minute by minute in the tiny offices

of the heart—tilting the head to look up

at every tree turned into a chandelier

by light striking ice in just the right way.

--James Crews