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Feb 2017
Snow, like silent guardians
hundreds of thousands of them
Fall on my shoulders, my backpack
the trees, the houses, bus benches.

Cold, a whispering cat's tail
shivering past your hand
Snap branches and blanket dead engines.

Frost blossoms in bedrooms
Bite fingers and rib cages.

Winter is lonely, without you.
Grace
Written by
Grace
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