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who was at the door?
only footprints
in the snow
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at the wake
my aunt chain-smoking
my father’s cigarettes
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yoga
on a cold morning
the squirrel’s poofy tail
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a hint of snow—
boots lined up
in anticipation
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no grass hut here—
sitting at the bus stop
in winter rain
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new year’s morning—
picking up
the red cups
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high winds
blowing out the old year—
chilling the champagne
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Boxing Day—
the snow arrives
one day too late
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new year’s eve
does the year go out in sequins
or sweatpants
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a ghost
at the upstairs window
snowfall
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winter solstice—
even the crows
are still
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a puff of feathers
at the feeder—
hawk
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winter solstice—
still the bluejays
calling
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pigeons
nodding as they walk—
this is acceptable
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geese pass by overhead
the cold at bay
a little longer
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December wind
drifting snow
over the mountains
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tracks
in snow
left by a black squirrel
and the red hawk that bore it aloft
and gone
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