There is little ice in the cracks and creases -
it is mid-December and the wind blows cold
over dead grass and leafless trees.
But not as cold as it could.
What is outside is not what is inside.
I feel winter's bony claw
tighten around my heart,
bone on muscle, jolting the rhythm
of all that is life
making the dark come sooner,
sooner than I thought.
it is mid-December and the wind blows cold
over dead grass and leafless trees.
But not as cold as it could.
What is outside is not what is inside.
I feel winter's bony claw
tighten around my heart,
bone on muscle, jolting the rhythm
of all that is life
making the dark come sooner,
sooner than I thought.
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