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| Photograph by Jonathan Walker. |
In the morning, snow drifted mourning white, slowing down to nod “I’m ok.”
In the morning, feathered ghosts rested their heads on strangers; needy, iced miracles.
[En]snowed, on Saturday
In the morning, snow drifted mourning white, slowing down to nod “I’m ok.”
In the morning, feathered ghosts rested their heads on strangers; needy, iced miracles.