Sometimes I look at the landscape and see this absolute thing,

crows and snow, all outlines and about to take wing,

and I am hard, as hard as I must be to survive this winter.

Sometimes I look out and see such abstraction, you can’t imagine,

all shades of grey under clouds, constantly in-motion,

dim and smooth, and I fall into the softness, the warmth.

You, you are something, somewhere, sometime in-between,

a warm thing surviving, grey and solid and sudden,

and I trust it, I trust you–absolutely. Soft and here and now.


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