The Ice Organ

The Ice Organ

hangs outside my second floor
apartment's livingroom window,
stretching from the house's eaves
to the roof of the porch on the first floor.

The pipes of this mighty Wurlitzer
catch the sun shining,
blinding diamondly through them,
like a solid glass, heavy proscenium curtain
around which blows an Artic oratorio
until the Fat Lady of Temperature
rises for her solo
and brings down the house
on this Niagara, once frozen.