Winter wrests
its breath from time's
inscrutable march      Is that your hand?
Eyes that see with the 
Height of trees
Stare down at you      Run before the judge opens his. 

Summer's soft regret
blends into motorized thought   Distraction is homeless man staring at angels.
Bring the snow
In buckets of banality        I can taste the edge of the failing light
The white desolation craves  
To blanket the listless land
We want it too.                Up the escarpment near the end 

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