Winter
Upon this settled grove, this row of trees, The light bright of the morning shows To each here present now unquestionably The fellow presence of each shivering bough.
Upon this settled evening too, Winter devises cruel clarity of sight. False Spring this week had, demonic, doomed, Scattered stark children among the starlings.
Shadow of child and bird soared Until night froze them in a dream. Always the year returns us without fail To this ancient darkness and this cold:
Bare branches across a dark, cold sky, Each branch hung with its own distant stars.
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