Summer's lake now solid and cold
June's leaves now old and dry
As gray streams pass through frigid sky
Birds should fly for tropics
here in wind hold tight to their sticks
but birdy's trick can pay
with sun on wing that first spring day

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Winter Bird (Luc Bat)

grey snow rushes at me
just how the world would be if i
understood it. the sky
is spread out, mystified, as if
i read its hieroglyphs
and from them gain the gift, the one
guidance long forgotten,
lest it pulls us undone. i read.