it's snowing,
again,
and through the endless endless white and the soft ticking of the grandfather clock
on the wall i halfheartedly wonder what the cardinal
in the bird feeder thinks of this.
it's snowing,
again,
and through the endless endless white and the soft ticking of the grandfather clock
on the wall i halfheartedly wonder what the cardinal
in the bird feeder thinks of this.
twenty-five degrees out & the air is sweet
with just enough sun to make it taste like springtime,
& flowers, & the freshness of the world after it rains.
we dance without jackets & twirl in the fading light,
and if we could all walk with our feet
firm on the ground, feeling the universe, feeling the world
so distant become what nurtures us,
if we could all walk only for a moment
without our hatred, without our grudges,
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