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The deer within the snow became away
from my flashlight and kettle
to let me battle with the ice on my own.
I used to be pondering of then you definitely,
of your drowsing head,
of your maskless mouth.
I used to assume your center
was once like an outdated waterway
at all times locking and filling
up, however it’s no longer only one factor
—it might be this kettle.
It might be the steam
at nighttime. The sunshine
bouncing across the branches
in the dead of night. Mine may well be an historic
furnace. The bunny tracks operating
up from the bramble to the
catalpa. That tree will bloom
in June. White clouds tacked on a
knotty body. Huge leaves with out a
enamel or lobes. I’ll be mindful then,
the bunnies dwelling in its roots,
the furnace resting past
the fairway crawl-space doorways, and I’ll
succeed in on your radiant hand ahead of supper
as a result of that’s once we say grace.

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