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Poem: Out the Picture Window in Climax, MN 

Out the Picture Window in Climax, MN

Falling snow, snow on the hills
Cold trees, and abstract winter sparrows—

Across the road, a ditch and eight old graves.
This white is relentless, dogmatic.

When I whisper to myself of different fields
All I hear is something less than I meant.

Useless echoes—deadened, damp—
Bounce against the glass, against the far tree line,

Swirl back like leaves in autumn. Deer waltz
Through town—do they remember October’s apples?

I’m tired of the seasons, of the mail, of people,
The VFW, the Masons. I’m tired

Of all the falling crystals. With nothing else,
I try to remember touch— heat against my skin,

Flavor on my tongue, some color other
Than cotton and shroud. I miss my wife, so very much.

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