Fact-checking

Fact-Checking

Overnight, the meadow grew fangs.

Diamond-encrusted and bladed they glitter 

landfast and impenetrable, like a breathless

certainty

until the forest twitches as hare. Elated

the dogs give chase

shattering the hoar frost 

with bounding leaps

pivoting fluidly 

like a sleek pair of seals.

Up close

the icy matrix of crystalline panes

formed under clear skies, on a still night, 

at a certain humidity

is a feathery, transparent 

house of cards.

The dogs return panting, dancing

in ice shards, leaving behind

lone pillars of salt. 

We swim on, spiraling foot and fin.

In the late winter sun, our furred wet skin

grows warm.