Monday, February 17, 2014

February 17

Deep cold, deep snow. The foot tall dogs smash along, crusted in their groove like the plow trains of Banff. I take the lead to spare the geriatric Corgi. This lasts until she shoulders her way past, unable to bear the tedium of my fastest pace for another mortal moment. Which is, after all, seven moments to her.

White birch branch carries
a foot of whiter snow—stark
as paper, this world.

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