The Breath in the Ice

In the pure block, transparent and cold,
a tiny eye of air is still.
There is no beat, there is no farewell,
just an eternal moment, a microscopic winter.
Perfect sphere, silent prisoner,
guardian of a sigh, when it was released.

It is an ancient echo, a silent story,
a fragment of sky within the process.
No boundary can restrain that breath,
even if trapped in a crystal bright and hostile.
It awaits the thaw to travel again,
tiny testament, subtle spirit.

And when the water returns its gift,
it will not be an end, but a serene return.
A gentle soul, an ephemeral throne,
that dissolves its secret in the great fullness.
The released air, a light whisper,
without memory of chains, only whole.