Saturday, January 7, 2017

After Midnight Series (Winter)

I only miss her after midnight,

within winter’s solitary midst

when Chopin's nocturnes play

softly in quiet light,

a nearly extinguished fire’s glow

reflecting off a shadeless picture window

where the beveled window corners

 have jewel themselves

in perfect ice crystals

and gazes out a warm den

to a suburban backyard acre

where cold wind blowing

bends leafless trees

enrapt in winter darkness

and drifting snow buries the grill

in a feathered layer of frozen white. 

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