On Snowfall | Poetry

Joanna Klink

Some days I am so filled with myself I can see nothing — who I was, others are, what any burden meant. The nights come and go, my thoughts loosen and return, and even now I am not sure the cardinal in the empty tree is there or if I dreamed it waiting. If I walked out now into that muffled quiet, my face would cover in ice-dust and my...

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