|Because You Asked About/The Line Between Poetry and Prose
||[04 Apr 2009|08:53pm]
Sparrows were feeding in a freezing drizzle
That while you watched turned into pieces of snow
Riding a gradient invisible
From silver aslant to random, white, and slow.
There came a moment when you couldn’t tell.
And then they clearly flew instead of fell.
First came across that poem in the context of an article about LambdaMOO, finally tracked down to the source. I like the original context still. In LambdaMOO you could cast 'spells', lines of text that scrolled down the screen for others to see. This one someone embedded in a snowstorm. So imagine those lines appearing one by one, amidst a flurry of asterisks * * ** ** ** * * * **