Thursday, January 12, 2012

Waiting on a Brittle Silence










Wool under waxed cotton, April clothes in March mud.

This would be the January thaw, except there's been no freeze,

No deep hardening of ground, no solid capping of the ponds,

While on the road to town, unseen beyond the hill,

Traffic rips and tears, no time to waste, no slowing down.



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