Monday, August 1, 2016

Sent Home

I stood there in my doorway, watched them walk
Into the blizzard, white on white dissolved
Them into night--the bushes bearded old
Beside the door--I felt the frost evolved
From nasal breath begin to build--my back
Too warm, a trickle in my hairs. They're bold
To venture out when footsteps vanish, lack
Is filled--the last to disappear is talk.

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