snowflake photographs

i got a toys r us microscope.
i wanted to see everything. 
eyelashes & fruit fly faces.
once, my own blood smashed
between two glass plates. i considered
myself a scientist. i wanted toi 
discovery something but i wasn't
sure what. winter came. less to see. 
in school we learned about 
a photographer who became obsessed
with photographing snowflakes. 
obsession is my favorite sacrament
for any animal. at first the flakes
would melt while he lined up 
the shot. i thought maybe i could
see what he did. this was back
when we lived across from the park.
i walked there on an afternoon
when no one else but my sibling
was home. it was snowing. just flurries.
i caught one & rushed it inside,
just to find it melted. a wet blotch
on the piece of paper i had taken with me. 
the teacher had projected his snowflake images
onto the walls. i remember thinking that
they looked like moth eyes. so many
little diamonds. the sky knitting 
so many tiny cathedrals. i imagined
stepping inside one just for its moment,
one second before my flesh turned
walls into water. he photographed thousands.
learned to bring his camera into 
the new england cold. i gave up quickly
on being a scientist. never managed to see
a snowflake alive up close. my obsession was
not as material as his. i am still collecting 
patterns. turns of the tongue. blood
dried on a microscope slide. the bulb
glowing in the corner of that demolished house
across from the park. so many fly-wings, beating.