On paper made of the sheath
Wrapping daffodil buds? Smelling of soil,
Pressed together with a hot iron. Print,
In reluctant sepia, words like unfold and flush.

And paper of poppies? Hammered and pulped
Compounded with iron, still crinkled like a rustling
Petticoat, script flowing like glistening blood:
Crimson, vigor, encardine.

A careful seamstress could sew the veins
Of dry leaves into a jagged sheet. On this
Carefully pen thin words with no
Serifs or commas: fallen    dim     witness.

Run with a screen to catch and intertwine
The snowflakes. Peel this crystal sheet;
Try spare haiku with a frosty brush.
White ink melting, blurring, illegible.