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| UNDER COVERS
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Cold spring fog hugs
the stark lamplight.
Slips down
branch tip, into house
through pores of mortar, and cracks
in windows and doors,
through blanket,
through skin
to the channel
of marrow in my bones.
The heater's on but does nothing;
heats on
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from The Wind is a Tall Man Striding
watershedBooks
2000
Copyright © Jim Slominski |
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