Winter

Words form slowly in winter
when wind blows rigid
branches in the first freeze.
White flakes gently fall
while the trees write stories
in the sky. My breath
sticks to a window warm
and gray where I trace words
from memory. They fade
into fog like passing thoughts,
beginning again the lonely scene.

 

* A revision of a poem written 20 years ago.

3 thoughts on “Winter

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