Very strange winter, overnight the first real snow, already melting.
After Yakamochi
Such a long cold night
Frost creeps up my little hill
And down my window
Clouds heave against bare branches
And shatter into first snow
Then sun-drenched morning
Where silence was now snow-melt
Water-soft vowels
And hard consonants of stones
A poem writing itself
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2012-02-14 at 17:39
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Lawrence Beck |
Nathalia |