Orb - chat

 The first time I met you,

I could see the potential you held
within your soul—
a perfect orb.

There was a thin layer of ice
and the sound of wind
blowing snow,
but I thought it was gently falling,
and the ice would melt
if I held the orb
for a while
in my hand.

So I reached out,
and the orb spun
wonderful stories
for a while,

giving birth to butterfly moments
flying into the sun,
shaping the world in all colors.

And the orb sang
on all frequencies—
a little song for every day,
enough sweetness to bridge
cold nights
and whole seasons.

And now that the orb
sits quiet, I wonder
how long until spring.

And I wonder
how many dreams
it still holds,
and what wonders
it will birth
if I held it again
in my hand.