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A barbed wind rested on white,
Turning surface to patterns,
To lanes, to lines, to reaches of dark.
A gathering like dew erupted, flexible
As the ghosts of winter,
Reminiscent of a white southern sea
Hurrying to wrap its froth around me.
Among the bare and massive trees
Snow swirled and touched my breath.
I lifted my face to the frozen wind
And wept. |
