I am a fleeting veil, born where worlds collide. Clad in light’s shattered vows, I flee when sought. What am I?

Shaken, rocked, up and down, back to front, a silent tempest of ever-frozen flakes rages over a still moment 'neath a robe of glass, then quickly calms.

Some call me sweet, some feel a burn. They tend to weep. Not my concern. I rise from depths, yet reach for sun. Tears flow forth and noses run.

Curved crescent cloaked in yellow, sweet companion of monkeys, and slips beneath feet like a sneaky fellow.

Ever burning, ever dying. Those around me whirling, flying. Fusing that which burns to float, covered in a windy moat. Oft exaggerated flares. Little to my light compares. No father, mother do I have. My light a seaman's scalding salve.