Thursday, January 8, 2009

wistful with grace
in a glass dish
in a sunny window,
faces turned up
looking over the trees
seeking the sweet
northwest grasses which
nod heavily, feeling the distant
tiny warmth, but bowed
under the weight of too much
sadness in the rain...
and so it is that
the hours are shared
and simply held
in the quiet ways
of winter, fading

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