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| jo'b |
Awake again
in the deep night of winter,
watching the storm.
Darkness swallows light.
I can't see the field, but I know
it's there, under snow in the dark,
the field where my children ran
with sunlight in their hair.
Like the fallen goldenrod
buried in snow, like the young
bare maples sighing with wind,
I, too, am rooted in the dark,
Soon to take my place
among the ended promises
of these few fallow acres
mistaken for paradise.
