Winter's Tale
Pine trees change their stance
bringing what we ask
carrying dead boulders
North into the future
looking at the sky through a knitted hat
the shirts we sleep in
like a fraying stocking
our hunting guns tucked in bed
no one pays attention
to the oracle of a barking dog
or a wet dog lying on the floor
waiting for the word dismiss
now an entity, like a random moon
that trees askew
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