Secret Ingredients
Winter
the low midday sun
shadows of geese noiselessly
passing overhead
–
dancing water
a clingy black shift
of morning ice
Grief
frantically rushing
worried that I’ll be late for
my disappointment
–
winter’s breath
making the trek
to an empty woodbin
Passing
the hours before dawn
weaving my way back home through
the thinnest of light
–
gently becoming
as one with
the winter sky
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