Tuesday, February 20, 2018


Snow that’s falling,
Blowing, drifting,
Leans against your
Tight-shut doors.

Whispers calling,
Hissing, sifting,
Change is coming,
Bolt your doors.

It looks human
From this angle
Through the window
Where it grows.

It’s not human.
It’s my angel,
Wings of shadow,
Eyes of snow.

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